Niagara
by Lilwazzabug
Summary: "Somebody goes over Niagara in a barrel, you gonna jump in and try to save them?" Sam couldn't say that he would be willing to...but that was until the day Dean took the plunge. Picks up exactly where the S3 finale left off.
1. Chapter 1

**A Few Notes**

_Warnings:__ Spoilers for the season 3 finale. It takes place exactly where it left off. So for the love of Kripke if you haven't seen the finale, do NOT read this._

_Rating:__ T for language and disturbing images(hehe, does that crack anyone else up when they see that on a rating? Anywho, it applies for this) and also E for Emo(tehe)_

_Other Stuff:__ Alright, this is THE first fanfic I've written where I knew exactly what I wanted to do, when I wanted it. This entire story is complete except for common editing and a necessary addition to a chapter later on. So because I'm so awesome, and on pure necessity cause I'm going on vacation for all of September, I'll try to update twice a week. So, I really enjoyed writing this, I hope ya'll enjoy it equally(more? hopefully ; ) as much. Let me know._

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_"Can you hear me? Can you feel me in your arms? Holding my last breath, safe inside myself are all my thoughts of you, sweet raptured light it ends here tonight."_

_-Evanescence "My Last Breath"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 1**

The sweet taste of revenge began to blossom through Sam's senses as he drew back the knife to land the killing blow on the demon Lillith. She had sicced the hellhound on Dean and forced Sam to watch. Sam had been immobile and incapable of doing anything about it. He had shouted at her, screamed his desperate anguish...and the demon had enjoyed it. She had laughed at Sam's cries of agony as he watched the life torturously pulled from his brother. She had killed Dean. _"Mistake..."_ Sam swung the blade down towards Lillith. Before the knife was able to hit its mark, black smoke shot from the body of the poor girl unfortunate enough to endure not only one, but two demonic possessions in her short lifetime. Sam's arms bent down over his head in an automatic impulse to protect himself. The demon finished its retreat from its host and disappeared through a vent in a ceiling. The young girl's body, most likely long dead by now, collapsed on the floor next to Dean.

Sam's arm drifted down to his side as his attention turned fully to the complete stillness of his brother's body. Time slowed to a stop. The room seemed to go completely silent and Sam's rapidly crumbling world narrowed to include only himself and Dean. His heart thumped painfully and he drew in a few heavy breaths in attempts to make up for the air that he felt absent within his tight chest. Adrenaline died quickly away and pure helplessness and sorrow were allowed to take over. Legs that felt as if they were made of both lead and jell-o took Sam over to where his brother lay. Sobs jumped in his chest and he bit at his lower lip in attempts to hold them back as he kneeled down next to Dean. He took a brief look at his brother's bloodied and marred appearance before placing a hand behind Dean's head and easing him up gently. Dean's eyes stared blankly ahead and his lips parted slightly. His expression was relaxed, but far from peaceful.

"No." Sam's lips trembled. Tears streamed down his face. "No." It came out as a plea as Sam felt the final thread holding up his world snap and everything came crashing down on him.

"Dean." The name choked out as a broken sob. Sam hung his head for a moment, quiet tremors shaking his body, before looking back up. Dean's eyes continued to stare, mocking Sam in their refusal to look at him. Sam sucked in a loud breath and went to shield the haunting gaze. He paused half way. The realization that he would never again be able to see the piercing green of his brother's eyes stopped Sam in his tracks and brought with it a fresh wave of sorrow. He drew his hand back and gripped a handful of Dean's jacket. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth against the unbearable emotions.

"God...Dean." He wrapped his arms around Dean's inert body, cradling him close, and hid his face against him. The silent sobs that Sam had held in before refused to be restrained any longer and instead loud, broken cries filled the room. Sam could still feel warmth in the figure he so desperately clung to and he wrapped his arms tighter as if to preserve it for just a little while longer.

Guilt fell heavily on Sam's already loaded mind and his head began swimming with self-accusations. _"This is my fault. If only I hadn't let my guard down. If only I'd killed that bastard, Jake, when I had the chance, none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have died, Dean wouldn't have had to bring me back. This is all because of me. He did this for me..." _Sam's mind suddenly switched from guilt to anger. "..._but I didn't ask him to."_ He fisted the back of Dean's jacket in his hands and shook him weakly.

"You stupid bastard." Sam whispered shakily. His chin trembled and he shook his head slowly. Sam cried bitterly and quietly for a few moments then shook Dean again, more forcefully this time.

"You selfish son of a bitch!" Before the screamed words even had time to echo back to him, Sam was only sobbing harder over regret for having said them.

"Oh God, Dean. I'm sorry-I'm sorry." Sam whimpered. "I didn't mean it, I...I didn't..."

The ever-constricting feeling in his chest stopped Sam from finishing his sentence, and he instead hid his face against Dean again. Large, silent tears trailed down his face and violent sobs wracked his already shaking body as he sat huddled over his brother's painfully still body. After awhile Sam began to rock gently back and forth. Quiet apologies, pointless words of comfort, and his brother's name whispering quietly through the silence.

o0o-o0o-o0o

Bobby snuck through the back door of the house and shut it quickly behind him. He glanced out through the window and gave the kitchen a cautious once over before determining that he had not been followed and no enemy was waiting for him in that particular room of the house. Bobby looked at his watch. It was 12:37 A.M. He rushed deeper into the house, eager to find Sam and Dean and fearing what he might discover once he did.

He checked a few rooms with no luck. Bathroom, nothing. Next room. It turned out to be just a closet, but still nothing. The hallway lead to the living room and Bobby stopped short. Deep scratches in the floor caught his attention. He followed the trail of marred wood until he came to a set of double doors with glass panes at the top. They stood slightly ajar and a broken line of what Bobby recognized to be Goofer dust lay just inside the door. _"Oh God..." _Fear renewed itself and squeezed harder around him. He wasn't sure what he'd find when he first started towards the house, but somehow he just couldn't _not _hope that Sam or Dean had somehow found a way out of the deal at the last minute. He threw open the doors the rest of the way and froze.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." The words came in a rush as the air pulled from his lungs. Bobby's hand clutched at the handle on the door for support, the sight before him causing his heart to fall rapidly and his legs to feel unsteady. Sam sat huddled on the floor, his head and body bowed forward over his brother's motionless body cradled in his arms. Dean was covered in blood; flecks of it colored his otherwise pale face and splashed over his neck. Bobby was only able to glimpse a bloodied tear on Dean's left leg; Sam's body prevented much further assessment. But by the looks of the growing puddle of blood on the floor, Bobby could only assume that it wasn't good.

Shock stole the luxury of tears away from him as he finally released the door handle and shuffled into the room. Sam didn't look up. He showed no signs of even being aware that anyone had entered the room. Bobby carefully thought over what he should say. What _could _he say? On one hand, he wanted to comfort Sam, though he realized that that would in all probability be impossible, but on the other he needed to convince Sam to leave. The demons surrounding the house had vacated their hosts and fled suddenly and without explanation, but experience had taught Bobby that such lucky breaks should not be taken for granted. They had to get out of there. Quickly.

Bobby moved before the vacant stare of Dean's eyes. The vibrant green was still there, but the spark that made Dean _Dean_ had faded. A shiver and a sudden wave of nausea overcame Bobby and he quickly averted his gaze. He swallowed back the urge to vomit and worked up the courage to speak. "Sam?"

Sam didn't respond or make any moves to look up at Bobby. A shiver caused the young boy's shoulders to visibly tense, but Sam said nothing. Tears finally found their way to Bobby's eyes. Seeing Dean like that -seeing _Sam _like that- was just way too heartbreaking and more than he could take. He quietly moved to the other side of Dean so he was facing across from Sam and kneeled down.

He swept his gaze carefully over Dean's body and focused finally on the pool of blood beneath him. Bobby wondered if Sam had been around when this happened to him. He wondered if Sam had _seen _when this happened to him. Bobby squeezed his eyes shut at the thought and turned his face away. He couldn't imagine having to witness that. And he didn't want to.

He turned back after a moment and looked again at Dean's staring eyes. Bobby wiped the back of his sleeve under his nose and reached a shaking hand to close the green eyes that he had always felt held many more years than the actual age of the man they belonged to.

"Don't touch him." The growled warning caused Bobby to quickly withdraw his hand.

"Sam?"

"Don't touch him." Sam repeated, but he still refused to look up or loosen his hold on Dean. A flicker of fear flashed in Bobby's eyes. He had already seen the wrath, hurt, and emptiness of the two eldest Winchesters when they had suffered such a great loss. It was not something that was easy to witness and even less easy to offer help for. Neither John or Dean had accepted Bobby's comfort, and he didn't expect Sam would be much different. But still he had to try.

"I'm sorry, Sam." The shaking in Sam's body took on a little more severity, and Bobby could only assume that he had gotten through to him a little. "Sam, the demons fled for some reason. But they could come back at any time. We should really make a run for it."

Bobby waited...nothing. No reaction. "Sa-?"

"I'm not going anywhere." The words were flat yet unyielding. Typical grieving Winchester tone. Bobby couldn't help but be reminded of hearing those same words, said in the same way, coming from Dean exactly one year ago. Dean had refused to leave Sam. Had refused to bury him, had refused to burn him, had refused pretty much anything Bobby suggested. Bobby would not make the same mistake of pushing further, so he reasoned gently instead.

"Sam, it's not safe. They could come back, Lillith could come back, at any second."

"Good." Sam said flatly. Bobby recognized a losing battle when he saw one. Sam wasn't going to leave, and urging him to do otherwise would almost certainly lead to Bobby being incapacitated in an extremely violent manner and/or yelled at angrily. Bobby wished to avoid both scenarios, but before he could come up with another idea, Sam spoke again.

"Let her come. Save me the trouble of hunting her down and killing her later."

"We'll find her." Bobby assured, trying to hold Sam's attention by appealing to his current state of mind. It worked. Sam's head moved a little from side to side before he raised it to look up. Bobby's breath caught as his eyes met Sam's. The stare was chillingly blank and cold and Sam's expression was the same. His face was pale and the traces of tears lead away from red-rimmed, watery, and puffy eyes. A smear of Dean's blood had half-dried on Sam's forehead, giving his overall appearance a gruesome and slightly psychotic air.

"I'm going to kill her, Bobby." Sam held Bobby's gaze steadily. It made the older man uncomfortable; the look in Sam's eyes was terrifying and the piercing gaze refused to waver.

"I don't care what it takes or how long, she's dead...I won't stop 'til she's dead."

Sam's voice was so flat and devoid of emotion that it was more terrifying than if he had sworn the oath while showing the anger that reflected his words. Bobby swallowed hard and tried to hide his fear by nodding in silent agreement. Sam looked at him for another minute before shifting his gaze to Dean. The coldness in Sam's eyes dwindled a bit to show the true pain and sorrow beneath it. His face contorted slightly and he sucked in a deep breath before again hanging his head and hiding his face against Dean. Silence reigned again, filling the air with a nearly solid heaviness.

Bobby felt out of place. The tragic scene before him was one that should not be witnessed by anybody and he felt like he was seriously encroaching on Sam's privacy. He tried to think of something to do or say, but also felt that doing or saying anything would be inappropriate at the time. A muffled whimper of a sob came from Sam.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find a way. I promised you I would...I _promised _you and I didn't...I'm sorry...God, Dean I'm _so_ sorry."

The feeling of being an unwelcome onlooker of a private moment grew and forced Bobby to stand and quickly leave the room. He needed a moment of his own anyway. He stumbled back into the hall and walked down a ways before stopping and holding a hand firmly against the wall. He scrubbed at the tears running from his eyes and took in a few ragged, deep breaths. Sam and Dean were like sons to him, and he had had to watch them both be stolen away from the other. Stolen away from him. He didn't feel privileged enough to be thought of as a father to the Winchester boys, but perhaps a favorite uncle. He had after all known John and his boys since Dean was a toddler and Sam was still crawling.

Bobby rubbed at his eyes again, still failing to keep them dry. He slammed a fist against the wall. _"Dean you stubborn ass of a man!" _Deals weren't supposed to be forged with demons. The bargain was never fair and they never ended well. And it was especially never fair to the person for whom the deal was made. Bobby had not made it any secret that he disapproved of Dean's deal, but he never voiced that Dean—though intending to do nothing more than save his little brother—may very well have taken Sam down with him .

Sam was a good man with a kind heart and a kinder soul. The way that he died was terrible and unfair, but the probability that Sam did go "some place better" was very high. Bobby never mentioned to Dean that by making that deal, by forcing Sam to go on without him in one year's time, he may have sentenced Sam to the same fate that he himself would have to face. The ever-looming threat of Sam's powers taking on more terrifying heights had always been stuck at the back of Bobby's mind. He had only seen flashes of the darkness within Sam a few times, but it had always scared him terribly.

Dean was Sam's rock. He kept him grounded and centered, always had. And without him around to comfort, reassure, and protect, it was troubling to think how Sam might react. Bobby had seen the same cold, brutality in Sam's eyes when he stated that he was going to hunt down and kill Lillith that he had seen in the graveyard back in Wyoming after Sam had shot the kid who had opened the gates of Hell. Bobby feared that the darkness may have already taken over, but he vowed to be there for Sam to stop it from escalating any further. It would have been Dean's dying wish, Bobby had no doubt. _"Watch out for Sammy. Take care of him." _Bobby could hear the words clear as crystal in his mind.A flash of Dean's torn and bloodied body drowned out the clarity of the voice and Bobby covered his eyes with a hand.

"Lord, please have mercy on him." Bobby prayed quietly.

"Bobby!" Sam's panicked cry immediately sent Bobby running back towards the room. Sam looked up as Bobby ran through the doors. The coldness had vanished from the blue-green eyes that stared wide at Bobby. The indifferent, psychotic look had washed off his face and...was that...hope?

"He's alive!" Sam's voice cracked and shook. Bobby stared dumbfounded.

"What?"

Sam looked back at Dean. "He's..." Large, shiny tears rolled down Sam's flushed cheeks. "He's alive."

_To Be Continued..._

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_Hehehe, Kripke has turned me into a total cliffy whore. So there it is: chapter un. Hope ya'll enjoyed it. If you would, please tell me if I managed to write in-character. That is always most important to me to try to achieve. I often fear I lose the boys' characters when I crank up the EMO to 11. So seriously, ANY review is a good review in my eyes...well...except maybe one like "This sucks. You suck. Never write again." but anywho, I'd love to hear what ya'll think: )_

_Reviews are like Dean and I'm Sammy(Aw)_

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes-s**

_Ok, this one is kinda short, but the next chapter is longer and I didn't want to mess with its set-up. I promise this chapter(and none of the others) will be quite as EMO as chapter 1. I know that was reeeeally EMO, but hey...who WOULDN'T have Sam's reaction in that same situation? But I promise the other chappys will not all have Sam sobbing his heart out lol._

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_"I know you hear me, I can taste it in your tears."_

_-Evanescence "My Last Breath"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 2**

Bobby didn't believe it. Sam had to be in shock and making things up for his own benefit, but he kneeled down next to Dean all the same and gently pressed a hand to his neck. Bobby closed his eyes and his heart went out to Sam when no pulse thumped against his fingers. He looked up at young man with sympathetic eyes.

"Sam-" He started to say, but Sam grabbed his retreating hand and pressed it back to Dean's neck.

"No, _damnit_! He's alive. Feel. Press harder." Bobby had no choice but to obey Sam's iron grip and search again for a pulse. He held his breath and waited. The feel of Dean's cooled skin under his fingers was beginning to make Bobby feel nauseous again when-...his eyes widened and his heart steadily beat faster until it felt like it was rattling his bones.

"Sweet Jesus." was all Bobby could breathe out as he moved his shocked gaze from Dean to Sam. The Sam whose gaze made him feel cold was gone and the Sam who he had known for nearly twenty-three years stared back out through the hopeful eyes. Sam's visibly shaking hand felt again at Dean's neck, no doubt to reassure himself that he had felt his brother's heart—though weak and desperately struggling—still beating. Sam nodded as if satisfied and looked up at Bobby.

"We have to get him to a hospital, Bobby. Now."

Bobby nodded, and took a deep breathe before trusting his voice to speak. "I'll call an ambulance."

Sam kept his hopeful eyes on Dean and spoke evenly. "There's a dead body in the foyer, another one behind you, and a scared family in the basement. We don't have time to explain that to the EMTs..."

He paused and reached a hand into his jacket pocket. Keys jingled into view and Sam handed them to Bobby. "Go get the Impala."

Bobby took the keys and he started to stand.

"Wait!" Sam's hand shot up and snagged Bobby's arm.

"What?" He asked impatiently. Sam's grip on his arm tightened to vice-like levels and Bobby winced as he felt the bones complain against the stress.

"Sam we-"

"Exorciamus te, omnis immudnus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incurious infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diobolica..."

The exorcism fell from Sam's mouth with flawless rapidity and he paused to see if the words had any effect on Bobby. The lack of demonic convulsions and the inquisitive look on Bobby's face was good enough for him. He nodded curtly and released Bobby's arm.

"Get the car."

Bobby turned and eased to a run as he left the room. Sam gave Dean's shoulders a squeeze before turning his gaze back to towards him.

"Dean? Dean just hold on, alright? We're gonna get you help. Bobby's going for the Impala right now."

As Sam expected—though had hoped otherwise—Dean did not respond. He finally decided that it was safe to close the staring eyes, for now Sam had hope that Dean would live to be able to open them again. He sniffed loudly and, after gently closing the lids, brought his hand down to rest on Dean's neck. Sam let the slow, weak drumming under his fingers bring him the confirmation that Dean was still fighting and that he should do that same. He sucked in and held a frightened breath as too long of a gap spaced Dean's heart beats. When the rhythm started back up again Sam blew out an exhale.

"Don't you _dare_ give up on me, man. Not now." Sam's vision blurred and he felt the all too familiar wetness of tears on his face. He let out a strangled laugh. "You gotta stick around to make fun of me for crying like a nine year old girl."

He wiped hastily at his eyes and carefully repositioned Dean so that his head rested comfortably in the crook of his left elbow. The body lying on the floor next to Dean caught Sam's attention for the first real time. The young blonde stared ahead much like Dean had, the blue eyes lifeless and dull. She did not appear to be breathing, but that didn't really surprise him. No one could survive being possessed as long as she had and live to recall the horror. Sam knew that the poor girl had no control over what had happened, but he couldn't stop the hate that he felt towards her.

His lips twitched angrily at the thought of Lillith. Sam had been dead-serious; he was going to hunt her down and make her suffer. He wasn't sure whether Dean's deal was counted as fulfilled or still yet to come, but either way Dean wasn't going anywhere. Sam was going to make damn sure of that and would stop at nothing in order to do so. Once Lillith was properly destroyed, it wouldn't matter anyway. A debt could not be collected on if the bookie was dead. Dean would be free and safe.

Sam remembered the blade he had unsuccessfully tried to kill the demon with and he looked around to see where it had ended up. He spotted it lying on the floor behind him. The weapon triggered a memory of something Sam had not further contemplated in his grief. Lillith had done something. She had raised her hand and Sam had felt a strange wave move through the air and crash over him. He was sure it was intended to kill him. But besides the initial, brief sting from the too bright light assaulting his eyes, Sam had felt no pain. When the light had died away and he had approached her, Lillith had looked terrified. Sam had never seen a demon look so damn scared in all his years of hunting. Hell, he'd never even really seen them scared, except maybe after they realized they'd just walked into a devil's trap. But Lillith had looked truly frightened. Sam took mild pleasure in the thought and hoped that her fear of him might work to his advantage later. He picked up the knife and stowed it in an inside pocket of his jacket.

Attempting to staunch Dean's wounds had seemed unnecessary and pointless before, but now it was crucial and Sam began searching for something to use as a tourniquet. He lay Dean gently down on the floor and hurried across the room to the wall of cupboards and drawers, pulling open and searching through them. He found a white linen tablecloth in a cabinet under the utensil drawer and grabbed it. After tearing it into strips, Sam began to wrap the cloth around his brother's various wounds. He eased Dean into a sitting position and rested him forward against himself as he removed the torn and bloodied jacket from Dean's shoulders. Sam made a disgusted face as he tossed the article of clothing aside. He didn't plan on taking it with him when they left. In it's tattered state, it would be of no use to Dean and Sam personally never wanted to see it again. He discarded the over shirt as well, but left Dean's torn undershirt. It would be too difficult to remove and Sam did not want to assume that Dean could not feel any pain in his unconscious state. Also he was not at all interested in seeing the jagged wounds the hell hound had inflicted at such close proximity. The thought brought on a bout of nausea, but Sam pushed it back and focused on what needed to be done.

He wrapped a large piece of cloth around Dean's back and chest, crudely securing it with a knot. He did the same with the wounds on his shoulder and then leg. It would do the trick until they got to the hospital, though the bandage wrapped around Dean's chest had already started to soak through. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear away the image of blood pouring from Dean's chest as the hell hound attacked him. That wound worried him the most. There had been so much blood, the attack so vicious, that Sam feared the damage done by the evil beast may be severe.

He had just finished tying the tourniquet on Dean's leg when he heard footsteps jogging down the hall. Sam's eyes snapped to the double doors and his hand moved to the inside of his jacket. Bobby came into view and Sam immediately relaxed, letting his fingers fall from around the hilt of Ruby's knife.

"The car's still running. Let's hurry up now." Bobby bent down by Dean's shoulder. "You wanna get his feet?" He offered, starting to maneuver Dean into his grasp.

"No!"

Bobby startled and looked up. Sam eyes were wide, something verging on panic making them bright.

"I mean-uh, I got him. I'll just need some help getting him in the car, that's all."

Bobby looked at Sam's face and once again saw instead the older Winchester brother. That night at Cold Oak, Dean had showed the same fierce protectiveness and firm—and fairly rabid—denial of Bobby's help when he had offered to help move Sam's body into the nearest house. _"I've got 'im-NO! Leave me the hell alone! I _said _I've got him!" _ Bobby saw the silent desperation in Sam's eyes. The plea for him to simply comply and not question. He nodded finally in understanding and stood, allowing Sam to take on the precious burden by himself. Sam smiled a brief and silent "thank you" before snaking one arm around Dean's shoulders and the other under his knees. He gently cradled his brother's battered body in his arms and stood with impressive success. Dean's head rolled limply onto Sam's shoulder and Sam gave a nod.

"Let's go."

Bobby moved quietly ahead as they walked through the house, frequently glancing back to make sure Sam hadn't changed his mind about needing help after having carried Dean's dead-weight for awhile. But Sam's expression was always determined, his jaw set, and Bobby knew that at that moment nothing and no one could have convinced Sam to release his hold on his brother. Bobby inwardly shook his head at the young man's unbelievable stubbornness and turned again to look ahead. He heard hushed words behind him after a moment and he smiled softly at the loving inflection.

"Gonna have to make fun of me for this too, man."

o0o-o0o-o0o

Sam's sharp eyes scanned the still neighborhood as he walked out onto the porch, his arms instinctively wrapping tighter around Dean. The cool night air blew softly and all was quiet except for the sound of crickets chirping nearby. _"Listen for crickets. If you hear them, you're safe. If you don't, then it's probably already too late." _His father's words of wisdom on hunting woods-dwelling supernatural beings reassured Sam and he moved down the path to the quietly rumbling Impala. Bobby opened the closest door to the back seat and jogged around the other side to open the other. Sam kneeled carefully and eased Dean onto the leather seat. Bobby leaned over from the other side of the car and took hold under Dean's shoulders, gently pulling him across the seat and further into the car. Once he was situated fully, Sam tucked in Dean's boots and closed the door before moving around to the side of the Impala by Bobby.

"You drive." Sam said simply. He lifted Dean's shoulders a little, sat down in the seat, and rested his brother's head back in the crook of his arm. Bobby was already behind the wheel and he threw the car into drive as soon as he heard Sam's door shut. Tires squealed—no doubt leaving charcoal stains on the pavement—and the Impala peeled out of the neighborhood. Sam kept the fingers of his right hand pressed firmly under Dean's jaw. His eyes refused to moved from his brother's pale face, as if looking away would cause Dean to vanish. Sam remained perfectly still, his breathing shallow and measured.

Bobby threw quick glances at him in the rear-view mirror. The silence was making him edgy. When people were silent it meant they were thinking, and that was something he felt Sam did not need to be doing a lot of right at the moment.

"Damn shame about that family. Not sure they'll ever look at their little girl the same way." Bobby said conversationally, trying to take the razor sharp edge off of Sam's attention. Sam blinked and looked up.

"Did they get out okay?"

"Yeah. Said they were going to the wife's mom's house. I didn't know mini-vans could move that fast."

The intended light-heartedness was completely lost on Sam; he simply blinked and dropped his gaze to Dean. Bobby saw the look that was starting to creep across the young man's face and he pounced.

"He'll be fine, Sam. It was close as hell, but we got lucky this time." Bobby grimaced, immediately regretting his word choice. He quickly checked Sam's expression for signs of hurt. Mercifully, he did not find any. Sam only nodded and said nothing for a few minutes.

"Bobby, d'you thi-...you think that his deal is...you know...fulfilled?"

_"Damnit." _This was exactly why Bobby hated long silences. He knew that Sam must have been mulling that question over since they left the house. That boy asked more questions than anyone Bobby had ever met, always had. But while Bobby had always enjoyed humoring Sam's curious inquiries as a child, this was one question he didn't want to answer. Dean was alive. That was all that Sam needed to focus on right now. But, if Bobby had one fault, it was his pure honesty in all situations. If he lied to Sam, he'd have to face the guilt of giving him false hope. If he chose not to answer, it would act as an automatic negative to the question. To Bobby, the first option was anything but, and the second was pointless, which left only honesty.

"No, I'm sorry...he's still alive. You're still alive. That wasn't part of the bargain. I'd wager that the deal still stands."

Sam nodded in a way that said that he thought as much but had hoped otherwise. The crushed look on Sam's already-broken expression made Bobby almost wish he had gone with option number one. He grumbled out a sigh and rubbed a hand roughly over his sweat-beaded forehead.

"Don't worry though. We're gonna find this demon and kill it and it won't matter if the deal's done or not."

"Yeah." Sam said quietly. Contemptible silence stretched out again and the hum of the Impala's engined served as the only sound for the rest of the ride to the hospital.

_...To Be Continued_

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_So yeah, not a whole lot happened in this one, and I hope the image of Sam carrying Dean didn't make anyone giggle due to absurdity, but come on! The man's 6'4'' and buff as a freakin'...I don't know what, but the point is, he could carry him if he needed to. The comparisons of Sam and Dean throughout this story were purely accidental, they just sort of popped up as I wrote and I liked it so I went with it, so I hope ya'll like 'em. I'll try to have chappy 3 up around the same time as chapter 1: Tuesday or Wednesday and I'll try to update twice the same time each week._

_Reviews are like coffee and I'm...well...I'm me: ) -Slurps Chai-flavored concoction-_

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notsies**

_Alriiiight, we're finally into the chapters that I think will be a little bit more exciting(or interesting, at least) Don't make fun of me for some the terms used in this chapter, I am not a doctor and I know very little about medical conditions, but I think I came pretty close thanks to my friends Google and Wikipedia. Also you may have noticed that the fic title has changed, turns out I suck at spelling and Niagara is NOT spelled N.i.a.g.r.a. -facepalms-. Anywho, hope ya'll enjoy. Let me know: )_

Oo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oO

_"Looking down from here, it's out of my hands for now, out on my window ledge, it's out of my hands for now."_

_-Dave Matthews Band "Out Of My Hands"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 3**

"I need some help out here!" Bobby called to anyone who was listening as he rushed into the emergency room. Three nurses nearby jumped into action. A man and one of the two women grabbed a stretcher and the other woman rushed up to Bobby.

"What's the problem? Are you hurt?" The nurse ask, scanning her eyes over Bobby for any obvious injury.

"Me? No. It's my nephew. He's hurt pretty bad. His heart's still beating, but just barely and that's about it."

The woman nodded, sympathy shining in her soft brown eyes. "What happened?"

"I don't know...." Bobby replied absently as he watched the two nurses with the stretcher rush out the double sliding doors. He looked back at the nurse in front of him. "I don't know. His brother found him and I found them."

The nurse nodded again and handed Bobby one of the two clipboards she was holding. "Fill this out and we'll let you know when we have more information on your nephew, Mr..."

The nursed lowered her head expectantly, waiting for Bobby to supply a name.

"Oh, uh Cash. Mr. Cash."

"Like Johnny?" The nursed smiled gently and glanced up at Bobby as she scribbled something down on the clipboard she still held.

"Yeah. Like Johnny." Bobby smiled tightly and looked over the woman's shoulder as the two nurses wheeled the stretcher back inside, Dean lying on top of it this time.

o0o-o0o-o0o

Sam crouched in the open door of the back seat, inspecting the wounds on Dean's chest. They didn't appear to be bleeding as badly as they were before, which filled Sam with both fear and relief. Fear that Dean's heart was beating too weakly to pump blood at a normal rate and relief for the same reason. He looked at Dean's face, his still features turned upside down from the angle at which Sam crouched. He blew out a breath and gently rubbed his thumb over Dean's face, removing the dots of blood coloring his otherwise pale features.

"Hang in there. If there's anyone stubborn enough to survive something like this, it's you, man." Sam whispered softly. He moved his hand down to Dean's shoulder to inspect the wound when he heard running feet and the sound of wheels on the pavement behind him.

"Sir, could you step back, please?" A deep voice said, gently authoritative.

Sam stood up and moved awkwardly to the side. A man in mint green scrubs and a small, female nurse quickly sprang into action.

"I-I could-"

"It's alright, we've got it covered." The man quickly interrupted Sam's stilted offer.

The two nurses quickly yet smoothly transfered Dean from the Impala's seat to the stretcher and began wheeling him back inside. Sam covered the distance in two long strides and returned to Dean's side, keeping up with the nurses' rushed pace. Oblivious to his surroundings or any other people who might be watching, Sam took Dean's right hand in his and squeezed tightly. Fresh flutters of hope grew as he discovered that Dean's hand—though ghostly pale—still held onto some of its warmth. Sam kept his eyes fixed on Dean's face and amazingly did not collide with anything or one as he moved inside the ER. He gave Dean's hand another squeeze and narrowed his eyes a little as if trying to telepathically communicate with his brother. _"Just please hold on."_

Sam felt hands on his chest and shoulders, holding him back and forcing him to stop.

"I'm sorry, you have to stay back."

Dean's hand slipped from Sam's grip and he watched helplessly as the stretcher proceeded on without him. He resisted the hands keeping him from following.

"No, no I-"

"They've got it covered."

_"God is that all they can say around here?" _"Please-"

"I'm sorry." The hands dropped away and the doctor whom they belonged to rushed after the nurses taking Dean further and further away from Sam. The stretcher pushed open a set of double doors and with a squeak of hinges and a swish of the doors, Dean was stolen from his view. Sam's shoulders sagged and he puffed out a strangled, frustrated breath.

"Sam." He didn't acknowledge the voice that spoke to him. The doors before him seemed to hypnotize, taunting him and telling him that all he could do now was wait. He blinked and heard a sigh at his right side. A hand rested on his shoulder, startling Sam a little and affectively breaking the hypnotic hold the doors had seemed to have on him. He looked around at Bobby finally.

"Come on." Bobby smiled gently and gave Sam's shoulder a pat. He brandished a clipboard, the papers on it flapping lazily. "Help me come up with some interesting stuff to put on here."

o0o-o0o-o0o

Thirty minutes later, Dean's new name was Simon Kirke, a fake insurance card had been accepted, and a whole slew of believable lies filled the forms that had been handed to Bobby by the brown-eyed nurse. Thirty-one minutes later when there was no paperwork to divert his attention, Sam's leg began to bounce up and down and his foot tapped a quick beat out on the impossibly shiny, white, marble floor. Forty minutes later his patience with staying seated had worn out and Sam began to pace around the waiting room, throwing impatient and worried looks at the double doors through which Dean had disappeared. And seventy torturous minutes later, a man in a blue collared shirt and the typical white coat that always signals "Doctor" walked into the waiting room.

"Theodore Cash?"

Sam was about to pity the poor man who had been dubbed with such a ridiculous name when Bobby jumped out of his chair and rushed up to the doctor. Realization clicked and Sam took long strides over to where Bobby and the doctor stood.

"How is he?" Sam got to the question first.

"Your..." The doctor flipped up the first paper on the clipboard he held and glanced down. "...Brother needs surgery. His left lung was punctured, causing a pneumothorax. The left pulmonary artery was nicked. He suffers from extreme blood loss made worse by internal bleeding caused by the damage to the artery. We have given him a transfusion for that and he is of course on oxygen for his collapsed lung. The injury to his shoulder and leg are not severe, they just require a good number of stitches. The wounds on his back are a little deeper, but do not pose a major threat. However there appears to be some tissue damage on his chest due to the lacerations."

The doctor's voice was flat and he spoke in a concise and fluid manner. The tone was not necessarily cold or off-putting, just very calm and no-nonsense; it reminded Sam a bit of the tone his father used to get before a hunt when he would remind him and Dean about how the job needed to be done. Sam shifted his weight between his feet and licked his lips when the doctor finished talking.

"But..." Sam supplied, smiling the type of weary smile that shows no joy or amusement. The doctor smiled softly at him, a small hint of curiosity flashing across his face. Perhaps wondering how many times Sam had had to bring one of his loved ones to the emergency room to know that there was always something worse that doctors left out of their diagnosis until the very end.

"His heart beat is weak and highly erratic. If it continues like it is there is a chance his body will not be able to withstand the trying effects of surgery and will give out."

Sam's jaw tensed and he dropped his eyes away from the doctor's even gaze to look at his shoes.

"I assume there's a reason you haven't already taken him into surgery?" Sam asked, looking back up. The doctor kept his eyes steady and turned a clipboard he was holding towards Sam.

"We need your permission before we take any action. To ensure that you won't hold the hospital liable if...well, if our best isn't enough."

"Well ain't you a blinding ray of sunshine." Bobby grumbled irritably. Sam shot Bobby an unheated look of disapproval before turning back to the doctor.

"So this could either save him or kill him...is what you're saying?"

The doctor nodded grimly. "Lack of action would ensure the latter. This way he at least has a chance."

Sam immediately took the pen from the holder on the clipboard and scribbled "Paul Kirke" on the line. The doctor flipped the board under his arm and nodded curtly.

"He's already being prepped in the OR. I apologize for my presumptuousness, but it is crucial that this surgery is done immediately and I couldn't imagine that any loving family member would not allow it. It is going to take awhile, but we'll inform you of any progress made. I'm Dr. Ron Herschfeld by the away. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner, you seemed very eager to hear about your brother and I did not want to waste time exchanging pleasantries."

He offered his hand and took Sam's then Bobby's in a quick, firm shake.

"Thank you, doctor." Sam said in a near whisper. His throat felt tight, his mouth dry.

Dr. Herschfeld smiled gently and, turning sharply, walked quickly back through the double doors. Sam and Bobby stared after the doctor and said nothing for a few moments. A woman came out of the lady's room dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and a page for a Dr. Hildenbrooke sounded over the intercom and still the two men stood in the hall staring. Bobby's gruff voice finally broke the quiet spell.

"Why do I get the feeling that that man just dumped a whole truckload of sugar on us?"

Sam took in a careful breath and released it slowly. "He had to make sure I gave my consent. He knows what he's doing. That's comforting at least."

Bobby made a face. "Kinda pompous if you ask me."

Sam shrugged indifferently, but offered no further response. He turned to Bobby after a moment, his more John Winchester-trained side taking over.

"The Impala needs to be parked. It can't just sit at the ER entrance all night. And I need a few things. Would you mind moving it and grabbing some stuff out of the trunk for me?"

"Sure thing. What do you need?" Bobby smiled gently, relief that he could finally be of some help to Sam making his eyes bright.

"There's some Goofer dust in the trunk. A few bags of it. I need those and salt too. In-fact just bring anything that you think would help. Once Dean gets out of surgery and into a room, we have to make sure nothing can get to him."

The voice of reason in Bobby's head told him he should warn Sam not to get ahead of himself. Bobby wasn't a doctor, but he was no stranger to the medical field and almost anyone could tell that Dean's diagnosis sounded grim. He didn't want Sam to get his hopes up only to be completely crushed, but Bobby ignored the voice. Because that was exactly what Sam needed right now: hope. Faith that Dean would make it through surgery. Faith that Dean would live. Bobby pushed away the voice because he himself needed that too. He clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"You got it." He gave Sam an encouraging smile and started towards the doors leading to the ER loading bay. "What about those protection bags Ruby gave you boys. Want me to grab those too?" Bobby asked, stopping a few paces short of the doors and turning around. Sam looked away. His hands hid in his jacket pockets and his right arm flapped gently at his side in the way it always did when he was uncomfortable or ashamed. The tic was not lost on Bobby.

"You don't trust her." It was a statement more than a question. Sam sighed and shook his head lightly.

"I _never_ trusted her. I...I guess I just wanted to believe that she could help. Maybe that she even wanted to, but..." When Sam paused, Bobby walked back over to stand in front of him. Sam looked back up, his expression difficult to read.

"When I summoned her she just seemed too..." Sam squinted, obviously concentrating on how to properly put his feelings into words. "...Omniscient." He finished after a moment.

Bobby raised his eyebrows slowly. "...Omniscient?"

"Yeah, like we were playing right into some little plan that she had devised right from the start. She just seemed smug somehow. Like she knew that I would be desperate to do anything to save Dean, and knew that I would call on her for help and all the pieces would slide into place for her and-and...she cou-...Like she'd-..."

Sam's voice had escalated in volume and speed as he worked through his theory, but his line of reasoning seemed to suddenly fade, leaving him looking exhausted and breathless. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran his hands over his face. When he brought them away, his eyes were blood-shot and shiny. Bobby couldn't believe how he hadn't noticed before how utterly awful Sam looked. Sure, he could see Sam's intense worry and it is was no secret that he had been under a crushing amount of stress lately. And on top of it all he'd gone through the recent horror of watching a hell hound attack and quite nearly kill his brother, but Bobby somehow hadn't seen how thoroughly and deeply drained Sam was. He looked exhausted, hollow, and weak. The latter of which was not a common label for Sam Winchester. Bobby felt a twinge of guilt for not noticing.

"I'm not making a bit of sense, am I?" Sam mumbled softly.

Bobby shook his head. "But it's alright. I knew what you meant."

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor. Bobby sensed that he should not leave yet. That Sam had more to say, but was holding back. Sam looked up finally and blinked at Bobby, as if he had forgotten about his presence and was startled by it.

The gently questioning eyes staring back at him made it clear to Sam that Bobby sensed that he hadn't said all that was drifting around in his mind, but needed to. His eyes wandered around the room before coming back to Bobby. The tingling feeling in his nostrils and the pressure behind his eyes that hadn't even had time to properly die down from the first time made a full comeback and Sam watched as the lower part of his vision blurred.

"He can't die, Bobby. He can't go to Hell because of me. I...I just wouldn't be able to live with that. I've got nowhere else to go...he's all I've got, and if he-..."

Bobby hung his head to give Sam a moment to reign in the emotions twitching across his face. He heard a shaky inhale, ending with a quick sniff.

"I can't go through that again." Sam's voice said softly, barely audible and perhaps not intended to be at all.

Bobby hid his puzzled expression at the use of the word "again" and he looked up, his eyes moved carefully over Sam's face. The reflective look in Sam's eyes and the flash of sorrow then sheer pain that followed was enough to make Bobby suspicious that Sam wasn't referring to the loss of his father or girlfriend. He searched the archives of his mind to try to figure out what Sam might have meant.

He did recall a visit the boys had made to him about five or so months earlier. Bobby's friend had dropped him a line to report a massive outbreak of demonic possessions in a town just outside of Denver. Bobby had called for Sam and Dean's help and they had stayed with him for a week or so while they wrapped up the job and rested. Sam's behavior during that particular visit suddenly stood out in Bobby's mind. Sam had looked a bit off since the moment he and Dean first arrived. He'd been quiet and pensive and unusually watchful of his brother. Sam had looked sad, but Bobby had just assumed that it was because the threat of Dean's deal looming nearer. But then Bobby remembered how Sam had not added much to the conversation when Dean had told him about their recent run-in with the Trickster they thought they'd kill back in Ohio. In-fact, Sam had excused himself mid-way through the story and hadn't come back for nearly an hour; long after the conversation had ended. Dean had mentioned there were details about the hunt that were some how blank to him, saying that he had lost a whole day after confronting the Trickster. It clicked together in Bobby's head and he finally realized what might have taken place during the time that Dean had lost.

He had been the one to tell the boys that Tricksters had a sick sense of humor, and it was never good to get on one's bad side. However, Bobby feared that was exactly what had happened; that that Trickster had taken revenge on the Winchesters and, more specifically, Sam.

Bobby didn't have the heart to ask Sam about it. That boy didn't need the extra thoughts weighing him down, so Bobby buried the question for another time. Perhaps when Dean was fine, Sam didn't look like the living dead, and the world wasn't at war with demons.

"He's not going anywhere, Sam. Like I said, we got lucky this time. And like _you_ said, the doctor seemed confident. He's gonna do everything he can to help Dean. And we will too."

Sam nodded tightly, his teeth biting at his bottom lip from the inside. Bobby waited a moment longer and, after seeing that Sam didn't have anything more to say, turned and headed out to the Impala to gather the requested items from the arsenal in the trunk.

o0o-o0o-o0o

_"Six hours..."_

A nurse had come into the waiting room to inform Sam and Bobby that Dean had gone into surgery and inquired as to what had wreaked such havoc on Dean's (or, Simon, as Sam told her) body. Sam had stated calmly and flatly that he and Dean had been hunting and a mad dog had attacked him. The tone of Sam's voice and the story itself was convincing enough because it was almost entirely true...just lacking a few demonic details. That had been six hours ago. Sam looked at the clock. _"Six hours, four minutes and thirty-four seconds." _His eyes had not strayed away from the clock ticking on the wall for more than a minute at a time. Though at one point he managed to resist and not look for a full two and a half minutes.

Sam had gone through every single one of his nervous tics and repeated them many times over. It had started out with the light drumming of fingers on his thigh, then turned into his toes bouncing his leg up and down rapidly. Only when his calf muscle felt like it might burn off from the effort did Sam take to pacing, his hands shoved stiffly in the front pockets of his jeans. Mercifully, for their sake, the accumulation of other people in the waiting room had completely diminished and no one was around to become annoyed with Sam, though the hospital workers could not be so lucky. It had gotten to the point that the nurse at the station would stop Sam with a curt shake of her head before he had the chance to ask yet again if there was any word on Dean. Sam felt like he was losing it and the thought that when they did get any news on Dean that it might not be good only caused his sanity to slip further.

Bobby appeared to be handling it better than Sam was. He managed to remain seated with his hands clasped in his lap the whole time. Though his fingers had long since lost their color and were in all probability numb from their tight grip on each other. Sam looked at the clock again. "_Six hours, ten minutes, and three seconds." _He closed his eyes and blew out a frustrated breath. What was taking so long? Was this normal? Why hadn't they at least heard _something_? Anything. Sam dropped back down into his seat beside Bobby and leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head, fingers lacing tightly through the back of his hair.

"Mr. Kirke, Mr. Cash...."

The familiar no-nonsense voice made Sam sit bolt upright. Dr. Herschfeld had reappeared through the double doors and was walking towards Sam and Bobby. He was clad in pale green scrubs and a matching cap. Sam and Bobby quickly stood up as he approached them.

"Well?" was all Sam said, but the single word held at least a dozen questions and a million pleas for good news. Dr. Herschfeld clasped his hands in front of him and began his report.

"We successfully repaired the pneumothorax and the damage to Simon's pulmonary artery. He has lost a dangerous amount of blood, but the transfusion is gradually replenishing. The wounds to his shoulder and leg were, as I said, not too severe, and luckily the damage to the epithelium—and more importantly—the muscle tissue on all of the wounds was not too severe. I will not lie, there _will_ be some decent scarring. Especially on his chest and back. His heart beat was still disturbingly irregular during surgery and admittedly there were a few close calls, but the repair to the pulmonary artery helped and—though it is still weak—, his heart rate has evened out to a more regular rhythm."

The doctor finished and Sam blinked, waiting for the storm that always follows the calm. He voiced his question when Dr. Herschfeld failed to include it in his summary of Dean's condition.

"And?...What's the bad news?" Sam's voice was quiet, child-like. The doctor smiled gently. He closed his eyes as he gave his head a light shake.

"No bad news. Everything went better than I would have expected. Nothing more to tell."

The dark, cold grip that had been constricting Sam's chest for the past eight or so hours eased and his heart beat hard against his ribs. He shuffled a step closer to the doctor, leaning forward a little.

"So...he's...he's alive?" Sam's voice shook.

Dr. Herschfeld smiled and nodded again. "Yes. His injuries would have been fatal had much more time passed before treatment, but after some recouping, your brother will be fine."

The words perched on Sam's brain, heard, but not quite sinking in. His heart fluttered and beat still faster and harder.

"He will?" Sam breathed out. The weight that had lifted from his chest was making him feel light, detached.

His eyes saw Dr. Herschfeld's lips move to confirm his question, but did not hear it. Sam didn't hear anything for that matter. Only his heart hammering within his chest, finally pumping out the last bit of adrenaline that had kept his body going. A choked, sob-like exhale trembled Sam's lower lip and his knees buckled out from under him as the room around him blurred and spun. He felt arms catch him and slow his fall. He felt tears in his eyes, felt them warm as they spilled down his face. He let his eyes slip closed and consciousness faded out, the words _"Your brother will be fine"_ echoing sweet and clear through even the darkest corners of his mind.

_...To Be Continued..._

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_Simon Kirke is the drummer for Bad Company, in case anyone was wondering. Again, the medical terms are conditions I wanted to use and had to look up for technical terms, so...yeah. If you're a doctor, tell me if I went terribly wrong somewhere._

_I hope ya'll liked this and I'd like to leave you with one last thought: Yes, Dean is alive and stable...but since when is anything that easy for the Winchesters? (dun dun dun dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuh)_

_Reviews are like Metallica, and I'm Dean: ) -Hums along with "One"-_

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes**

_Alright, my editor (also known as my -cough- mother) loved this chapter. Don't make fun of me. I got her hooked on the show mid season two and she's the only person I personally know who's a Supernatural fan. She said this is her favorite chapter so far; I hope ya'll feel the same way. I know the first few were slow-going, but I felt that they were completely necessary. _

_**REMEMBER**____I want ya'll to tell me how accurately (or INaccurately) I'm depicting the characters. That is THE most important thing to me._

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_"Oh brother I can't, I can't get through. I've been trying hard to reach you cause I don't know what to do. _

_Oh brother I can't believe it's true. I'm so scared about the future and I wanna talk to you."_

_-Coldplay "Talk"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 4**

_It was dark. A crushing blackness that seemed to have weight and pressure. The roll of thunder was the only sound to fill in the silence. He tried to move, to think, to figure out what was going on, but failed at all three attempts. That's when he heard it. A sound muffled by distance. He squinted in concentration and held his breath, straining his ears to recapture the sound. He heard only the thunder for a few moments, but then the sound came again. It sounded a bit closer this time. It was still muffled, but what it was was undeniable; it was someone's scream. _

_The cry was broken, desperate and filled with unimaginable pain and fear. He waited after the call died down again. The pause was longer this time and he was about to stop listening so intently when the cry sounded again, even closer. Close enough to hear clearly. His stomach twisted as the voice screamed a name...his name. An icy sensation traveled to his chest when recognition sprang into his head. He knew that voice. Knew it better than most anything else in the world, though he wished he'd never have to hear it sound the way it did now. His heart pounded in his ears and he flinched when the broken plea rattled at a deafeningly high volume in his ears. _

_"Help me! Saaaaam!"_

_Thunder rolled and lightning crackled, lighting up the impenetrable darkness for the first time. His muscles tensed and his body went cold at what the new illumination allowed him to see. Cruel chains shackled arms and legs, spread them wide and held them tightly. Hooks tore into flesh and blood soaked through clothing. Familiar green eyes shown bright with tears and sparked with something that had very seldom been seen in them before: pure, uncloaked fear. _

_He choked on a sob and cried out, only to find that his voice failed him. He attempted to move, to reach out and comfort the person who called for him, but he found himself forcefully held back by something. His mute voice called desperately back and he fought to free himself from the bonds he could feel but not see. He struggled more valiantly as the lightning slowly faded, taking with it the view of his brother._ _"Dean!"_

Sam sat bolt up right with a painful gasp. His chest heaved and he pulled in long, shaky breaths. A sob caught in his throat and forced him to fight harder for breath. Tears added to the blur of his already sleepy vision and he poked his thumb and index finger into his eyes, as if to gouge out the images that plagued his dreams. An empty pit of unease gripped at Sam's stomach, threatening nausea. Something didn't feel right.

"Welcome back."

Sam startled and quickly dropped his hand from his eyes to search for who the voice belonged to. He took in two bunk bed opposite each other on the walls to his left. The room was dim, but had enough light for him to see everything relatively clearly. Sam's turned his head to the right, seeing more beds, and stopped when he found who had welcomed him.

A woman looking to be in her early-forties and dressed in magenta scrubs looked back at Sam. She was lying on her side, her elbow bent and her head propped up on her open palm. She smiled warmly when Sam's gaze focused on her.

"Hi."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows at the woman, but said nothing. The curtain of sleepy confusion was still drawn and Sam felt like his mouth was too dry to attempt speech. Instead he carefully swept his gaze around the room, still not sure where he was.

"You're in the on-call room of St. Mary's Medical Center." The woman replied, clearly spotting Sam's puzzled expression.

"I-uh...oh." Sam stuttered. He was still caught up in his head and couldn't quite recall why he would be in an on-call room. The woman sat up and leaned back against the wall adjacent to her bed.

"You collapsed in the waiting room. Dr. Herschfeld gave me the run down and asked me to keep an eye on you while I was in here. At first he thought it was just shock, but then after a look at those raccoon eyes you're sporting and a bit of explaining from your uncle, looks like you've earned yourself a case of exhaustion." Sam blinked, a lethargic action that he was sure only further reenforced the nurse's assessment. The nurse chuckled light-heartedly and continued. "I've gotta tell ya, I've seen people in the grips of a 105 fever rest more peacefully than you. In my life I've never seen someone sleep so restlessly."

Sam's dimples deepened briefly in a sheepish half smile. The nurse smiled warmly, concern creasing her forehead.

"When's the last time you got a good night's sleep, honey?"

Sam shrugged and shook his head. He honestly couldn't remember. It had definitely been awhile. For the last couple of weeks he had pulled more all-nighters than he could count, researching for hours to find a way to..._"Dean..."_ Sam's eyes widened a bit and he looked back up at the nurse.

"How long have I been here?"

The nurse shrugged and her mouth curved up on one side in an apologetic smile. "I'm not sure. I just came in to get some shut-eye about an hour ago. A few nurses have been in to keep an eye on you, but that's all the 411 I got."

Panic spiked through Sam's stomach and he winced, angry at himself for sleeping when he should be at his brother's side. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. How long had he been sleeping? Minutes? Hours? Sam's stomach knotted at the possibility of days. The nurse hopped off of her bed and stood as Sam approached her.

"My brother. Do you know what room he's in?"

The nurse breathed out a bubbly, little laugh. "Your uncle warned me that'd be the first thing you'd ask and that it'd be my best interest to 'damn well' tell you. He's in 217. Come on, I can never get any sleep in here anyway, I'll show you the way."

The nurse put a small hand on Sam's arm and turned him towards the door. Sam had to shorten his stride in order to keep pace with the much shorter woman and his hands clenched at his sides in eagerness to get to Dean faster. The nurse asked a few questions to which Sam answered with flat, concise replies. He would feel guilty for not being more polite, after all the woman was helping him, but at the moment Sam found it hard to feel any other emotion besides anxiousness.

It seemed like they'd been walking forever when a woman with large round glasses, wearing blue scrubs, and holding a clipboard stopped the nurse leading Sam.

"It's the fourth door down on the left, honey." The nurse told Sam as she took the clipboard from blue scrubs. "My name is Jillian, by the way. Let me know if you need anything."

Sam quickly returned the warm smile. "Thanks."

He half-jogged down the hall and past the three, closed rooms before reaching the one that Dean was in. Sam didn't bother stopping when he saw that the door was closed, he pushed it open immediately and rushed inside. Bobby and Dr. Herschfeld turned to him as the door swung swiftly open and bumped harmlessly into the door jamb. They were partially obstructing his view and all Sam could see were Dean's blanket covered feet. The complete stillness beneath the stark white blanket caused Sam to stop short and take in a sharp breath. He had been so gung-ho about seeing Dean that he hadn't taken the time to prepare himself for what he might find.

"Hey. Welcome back." Bobby walked over and gently clapped Sam on the shoulder, a look a relief smoothing his brow. "Feelin' better?"

Sam nodded, his eyes straying to look beyond Bobby. Mild frustration flashed in Sam's eyes when Dr. Herschfeld still blocked most of his view of Dean. Bobby noticed Sam's agitation and glanced behind back at the doctor. Herschfeld nodded in understanding.

"Let's give Paul some time, Mr. Cash. We'll fill him in on everything later."

Bobby nodded and, after giving Sam's shoulder a squeeze, walked out the door, closely followed by Dr. Herschfeld. Sam watched the two men leave the room, deliberately saving his reaction to seeing Dean for after they had left. The door clicked shut and Sam took in a deep breath. Letting it out, he moved his gaze over to the bed against the wall opposite him.

Thick, white bandages wrapped around Dean's chest and right shoulder. A clear IV tube ran up from the back of his right hand to a bag suspended on a pole next to the bed. Another bag filled with dark red liquid and labeled "O-Negative" hung next to the first and a thicker tube ran from it into Dean's forearm. Slight condensation formed a misty cloud on a plastic oxygen mask covering Dean's nose and mouth as he breathed in and out. Sam's heart fluttered as his eyes caught and became hypnotized by the gentle rise and fall of Dean's chest. The movement looked normal, easy; it indicated life. A bit of the weight resting heavily on Sam's shoulders seemed to be lifted by the simple act of Dean breathing. He shuffled to the side of the bed and stared down at his brother's face.

"Hey-" Sam cleared his throat when his voice cracked. "Hey, Dean...it's good to see you, man." Sam paused, further confirming his words by carefully looking over Dean's face. His brother's unusually long eyelashes gently brushed the paled skin of his cheeks. The normally expressive eyebrows lay lax above closed eyes, giving Dean an overall look of youth and innocence.

"You look good, man. All things considered."

A heart monitor beeped reassuringly in Sam's ear, but he couldn't resist and he lay his hand gently against Dean's neck. The thrum against his fingers was a bit stronger than before and it had leveled out somewhat; just like Herschfeld had said. Sam blew out a shaky breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as he felt for the pulse and he hung his head. Tears prickled in his sinuses, the pressure returning to the back of his eyes. Sam sat heavily down into the chair next to the bed and moved his hand from Dean's neck down to rest on his lower arm. He tightened his grip, the skin beautifully warm under his palm. Sam sniffed noisily and raised his head back up to look at Dean again. He watched quietly, let the beep of the machine and the soft thrum of Dean's heartbeat against the palm of his hand center him. Sam remained quiet for awhile, just needing to take in his brother's presence. To watch him, feel him, to assure himself that Dean was still there. He just sat and breathed for awhile, watching his brother carefully.

A smiled teased at Sam's mouth after awhile as his mind wandered to the past. The smile increased until the corners of his lips turned up slightly and dimples flanked either side.

"Remember when we were kids? I was probably five or six and some bully at school told me about the boogeyman for the first time? I came home crying and asked you about it."

Sam's dimples deepened, his eyes shiny with nostalgia. "You were _pissed_, man. I thought you were gonna kill that kid." Sam chuckled softly. "I'm sure you would've tried had Dad not told you to step off."

Sam's eyes flicked back and forth as he relived the memory. He recalled it so clearly. The fear he'd felt at the notion that a scary creature would come in the night and drag you under the bed to God knows where. The fiery look of anger in Dean's green eyes as he kneeled before him, his hands gripping Sam's shoulders. He'd heard Dean curse for the first time that day; Sam smiled at how he hadn't even known what the words meant at the time. He breathed out a soft laugh.

"I wouldn't sleep in my own bed for a week. Finally one day you told me that you caught the boogeyman creeping into my room. You told me you killed it." Sam shook his head and shrugged his shoulders a bit.

"Funny...it just now occured to me that you could have been telling the truth." Sam hung his head to look at the floor and he let out a long sigh. "Don't know what made me think of that..."

Sam's smile faded as a smudge of shiny residue near the tip of his right boot caught his attention. His eyebrows dipped and he moved his eyes over the off-white tiles. The shine continued in a curving line. Sam stood and followed the line all the way around Dean's bed. It was a complete circle encompassing the hospital bed. Sam got down on the floor, flattening himself against it until light reflected off the tiles. Intricate patterns of lines connected to the initial circle that Sam had seen, disappearing under the bed, and reattaching to the other side of the circle. Recognition of the pattern clicked and Sam smiled before pushing his palms against the floor and standing back up.

He rubbed his hands over the thighs of his jeans and walked over to hospital room's single window. He examined the sill. Nothing. The look of puzzlement returned to Sam's face and he searched the entire window alcove. Finally he found a light dusting of what could only be Goofer dust and salt granules on the right, outer ledge of the window. Sam pressed his fingers against the grains, examining them when they stuck to his finger. A thought came to him and he pulled up a chair sitting next to the window. Standing up on it, Sam peered over the lip at the top of the window. A neat line of black and white dust covered the length of the window. Sam checked above the main door frame and the bathroom door frame. Both had the same lines on them. Sam smiled again, shaking his head, and pushed the chair back against the wall. He returned to Dean's beside.

"A devil's trap drawn in soap and salt and goofer dust lines on top of the window and door frames. Always knew Bobby was a genius."

Sam flopped back down in the chair with a heavy sigh, keeping his eyes on Dean's face as if waiting for a reply and feeling a pang of disappointment when none was given. There were few things Sam wouldn't be willing to give just to hear his brother's voice. For Dean to open his eyes, make a snarky comment about Sam looking like he'd just been double-clocked by Tyson, or go on about how chicks dig scars and how he had a few more for them to admire. Hell, Sam would settle for a finger twitch. _Anything _to indicate that Dean might be able to hear him. To reassure himself that Dean was still in there somewhere.

Sam watched the puff of condensation form and disappear on Dean's oxygen mask and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. That would have to suffice for now. Sam picked at a small bunching of blanket's near Dean's still left hand.

"Thanks for hanging in there, Dean. I know you been through he-..." Sam stopped himself, not wanting to quote a phrase people so carelessly threw about without having any real understanding of what it meant. He tried to clear the annoyingly frequent feeling of constriction in his throat and decided to leave the sentence unfinished when the tight feeling refused to subside.

"You gotta stop doing this to me, man...If I had a dime for every time you've nearly scared me to death, we wouldn't have to stay in shady motels anymore."

Sam smiled weakly. A welling of tears in his eyes sharply contrasted the soft dimples on his cheeks before his face returned to its former, grim expression.

"I'm being serious though, Dean. If you truly want to do your job as a big brother, taking care of me, doing what's best for me...then you'll never do anything like this again. You hear me?"

The heart monitor and a muffled call over the intercom outside the door was the only reply. Sam bit at his lower lip. Tears ran unevenly down either side of his face. He sucked in a sharp breath and quickly moved his hand into Dean's, holding it tightly.

"Tell me if you can hear me."

Sam looked intently at Dean's face, watching for any twitch or indication, feeling for any movement of the fingers laced through his own. His eyes slipped closed after a few moments and he sighed in frustration and disappointment. Nothing.

"Anytime, Dean. Let me know...I'll be right here."

He leaned back in the chair and adjusted until he felt he was the most comfortable he could be in such an uncomfortable chair. He wiped at the few salty trails running down his face and took to staring at his brother, focusing again on the rise of life in his chest, the persistent beep of reassurance from the machine beside him and the warmth of Dean's hand clutched in his own.

_...To Be Continued..._

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_Ha HA. There ya have it: )_

_Uuuumm...I really don't have anything else to say...Next chapter shall be up Tuesday or Wednesday like always and uh...hope ya'll enjoyed._

_Reviews are like writing evil season finale cliffhangers that make the fans wanna rip their hair out...and I'm Sir Kripke._

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes**

_This one be a bit short, sorry:( But it's just the way the writing process worked out, ya'll know how it can be sometimes; ) Hope ya'll likey. Oh and just a note, I GROSSLY miscalculated how many chapters a week I'd have to post to get this story finished before I leave for vacation, so I'll be posting updates...well...almost every day, so YAY for ya'll but BOO for the suspense factor: (_

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_"Where are you? And I'm so sorry, I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight. I need somebody and always. This sick, strange darkness, comes creeping on so haunting every time."_

_-Blink 182 "I Miss You"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 5**

_The familiar crushing darkness had returned. The pounding roll of thunder. The immobility and feeling of pure helplessness. The scream sounded again, jarring through his ears this time without warning. He gritted his teeth at the deafening, heartbreaking cry. Dean's voice somehow managed to overpower the rolling of thunder and it pleaded again for help...for _his_ help. He called back, the sound audible this time but nearly as broken as the one that called to him. He waited to see if he had been heard. Only the thunder answered him and then a moment later the blood-curdling cry. He choked on a sob as panic and claustrophobia kicked in. He pulled at his mysteriously invisible restraints, straining desperately to pull free but found that he still could not. _

_Lightning shot visibility through the darkness suddenly and dazzled his vision. He gasped at the painfully familiar sight before him. Bloodied shackles, torn clothing, hooks tearing flesh, blood (a lot more blood than before), and pleading green eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing tears down his face. An angered scream ripped through his throat and his muscles tensed against his bonds. He felt an odd sort of energy ripple through the air before something gripped his shoulder._

Sam awoke with a gasp and twitched violently away from the touch. He looked around wildly, not quite recognizing his surroundings.

Rhythmic beeping sounded to his right. The unmistakable smell of cleaning supplies barely covering an odor that was probably better left unidentified filled his nostrils and something warmed the palm of his hand. Sam blinked owlishly and looked down; Dean's fingers were laced loosely through his own. It all came flooding back, bits and pieces of the last twenty-four hours.

New Harmony, Indiana, midnight, shed tears and a million words silently exchanged. Running from something he couldn't see, Ruby—except _not_ Ruby—, the unnaturally familiar feeling of being held immobile by demonic forces and...Sam swallowed convulsively at the memory that he knew could never be erased from his brain: Dean writhing on the floor, bleeding, screaming while he watched, powerless to do anything. Then, crying for what seemed like years, feeling the flutter of life beneath his fingers, the hospital, and overwhelming relief. Sam blinked at the distant acknowledgment of someone saying his name.

"Sam?"

He blinked dumbly a few more times and looked up. Bobby stared back at him, his eyes soft with sympathy and quiet strength. Sam straightened up, grimacing at the stiffness that his neck had earned for sleeping at such an odd angle, and fidgeted uncomfortably. He unlaced his fingers from Dean's, but froze half way from retreating. His hand hung in the air for a moment, torn between feeling awkward in front of Bobby and needing the contact with his brother. A flash of Sam's recent nightmare forced a quick compromise; he rested his hand on Dean's lower arm. His eyes drifted about the room and finally focused on Bobby again. Sam cleared his throat.

"Good-" He stopped as his dry mouth and throat caused the word to sound more like a croak than intelligent speech. Sam swallowed thickly, cleared his throat once more, and tried again. "Good job locking down the room. The devil's trap is brilliant."

Bobby smiled softly and scratched under the back of his trucker cap. "I've been around awhile. Ain't the first time I've had to set up protection without freaking people out and getting myself thrown in the psychiatric ward."

Sam breathed a short laugh through his nose. "I'll have to remember that."

His smile instantly faded as he caught sight of something in Bobby's eyes that he knew was meant to be hidden. Bobby's body language, expression and—now that Sam thought about it—the forced levity in his voice all pointed to that Bobby knew something that he did not. _"We'll fill him in on everything later." _Dr. Herschfeld's words suddenly sounded suspicious in Sam's memory and they added to his growing feeling of unease. Sam's hand unconsciously tightened around Dean's arm.

"What is it?" He asked flatly, his voice quiet yet demanding.

Bobby's smile immediately faded to a soft frown as he realized that he wasn't fooling anyone; especially not Sam. He scratched absently at his beard then dropped his hand, motioning with it towards the door.

"Come on. Let's get us a few coffees."

Anger and panic clashed in a chilling wave in Sam's chest. He _hated _when people didn't answer his questions and purposefully changed the subject. It made him feel like a child; helpless and undermined. He refused to move and kept his eyes fiercely fixed on Bobby.

".It?"

Bobby sighed wearily. "I promise we'll talk, really. But I could use some brewed energy right now. You're beat, Sam. I'm sure you could use some too."

Sam chewed at the inside of his lip. A cup of nice, hot coffee, no matter how crappy of quality he suspected it would be, did sound very tempting. He _was _beat. The few hours of sleep he'd caught in the on-call room had done little to make up for the two and sometimes less hours he had gotten every night for the past two and a half weeks. Sam sighed and nodded finally.

"Fine." He turned to Dean and gave his arm a squeeze, brushing his thumb gently back and forth across the mercifully warm skin. "I won't be gone long. I promise." Sam said quietly, just enough so that only Dean may hear him. With that, he breathed out a loaded sigh and stood. Sam dropped his gaze from Dean's sleep-smoothed face and turned from the bed, keeping his hand on his brother's arm as long as he could before it fell away and he followed Bobby out of the room.

o0o-o0o-o0o

Sam picked at a scrap of jagged plastic on the white lid of his styrofoam coffee cup. He and Bobby had gotten to the cafeteria just in time to get their coffee and avoid the sudden influx of doctors, nurses, and visitors lining up to grab some lunch or—Sam was sure in some cases—a late breakfast.

"Alright, Bobby. You got me down here, we've got our coffee, now tell me what's going on."

Bobby lengthened the sip of coffee he was taking as if a couple shots of Jack Daniels had secretly been added to the mix. Sam took a sip from his own cup and was pleasantly surprised to find that the hospital's brew didn't taste like hazelnut tinted motor oil. It was actually passable as coffee. Sam savored the strong taste and the invigoratingly hot temperature before putting the cup back on the table. He returned to picking at the same spot on the lid.

"Bobby..." Sam's voice held an edge of warning this time: frustration barely masked by calm patience and tiredness.

Bobby looked up finally. Sam's face was calm, his gaze steady, but the incessant tapping of shoe sole on tile gave his anxiety away. It suddenly made Bobby feel cruel for forcing Sam to leave his brother's side before agreeing to tell him what Dr. Herschfeld had told him. He sighed and pushed his hat back a little, rubbing at the thinning hair that hid beneath it.

"I talked to Herschfeld when you were sleeping, right before you came in. He told me that Dean's surgery went really well-"

"He told both of us that already. Get to the point, Bobby." Sam's voice was flat, his gaze unblinking and piercing. Bobby squirmed under the scrutiny of the sea-green stare, uncomfortable with Sam's ability to read people so well. He pulled the hat back down on his forehead and dropped his hand back to his cup of coffee. Bobby's voice was quiet when he spoke again a moment later.

"He told me that Dean should've showed signs of waking by now."

Sam blinked. His jaw clenched and his adam's apple bobbed erratically, but he said nothing. Bobby searched the young man's face, still waiting for a reply.

"He says it's not a problem..._yet_. We'll just have to wait and see. Some people take longer to kick the anesthetic than others." Bobby supplied when Sam still didn't say anything for a good minute, hoping to coax some hope into the young man's blank expression. It worked. Sam blinked again and he swallowed audibly.

"Dean's gone through a lot-"

"And his body is stressed." Bobby added enthusiastically. "He just needs the extra rest."

"Dean's a fighter." Sam said quietly.

"Damn straight he is."

"He won't give up. Not now. Not when he's fought this long."

"Not as long as that big, stubborn heart of his still beats."

Sam and Bobby both immediately averted their gaze and Sam shifted in the uncomfortable chair. Although the words they had said to reassure themselves and each other were true, every single one of them, both realized that fear and uncertainty had caused them to overdo it. After too much time stretched out with no other words exchanged, Sam glanced at his watch.

"I should get back. I told him I'd only be a bit."

Sam stood abruptly, but Bobby caught his arm and smiled gently, cajolingly.

"Dean's not going anywhere. Why don't you get some some food in ya. That tall, lanky stature of yours is damn near running on empty."

As if further urging Bobby's argument, Sam's stomach gave a protesting growl. Sam almost considered ignoring it and just going back up Dean, but Bobby's almost-pleading look caused him to reconsider. Sam realized that he wasn't the only one suffering. None of this could be easy for Bobby either. If both of them were going to go out of their minds with worry, they might as well try to get through it together. With that in mind, Sam finally relented and he and Bobby went to get in line before any more people could jam into the cafeteria.

_...To Be Continued..._

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_So yeah, not a whole lot happened in this one, but again it is necessary in the long-run. _

_I freakin' HATE hospitals, and unfortunately I've been able to become familiar with them over the years, but I guess that worked out in putting detail into this chapter, eh?_

_Something a little different in-store for the next chapter, it was...interesting/weird/kinda fun to write, but I think it turned out alright, guess ya'll will have to tell me; )_

_Reviews are like chum...and I'm a shark(God, don't ask. I'm very tired right now)_

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes**

_This one is REALLY short, but I wanted it to be in a chapter by itself. _

_Twistedly(I like to create new words, just go with it) enough, I really enjoyed writing this part. It was interesting to delve into the darker side of my imagination and see what I pulled out...this is what it looks like. Hope ya'll like; )_

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_"Darkness imprisoning me, all that I see, absolute horror, I cannot live, I cannot die, trapped in myself, body my holding cell."_

_-Metallica "One"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 6**

His arms ached. His wrists ached. His ankles ached. _He _ached. Constant pain ripped through his right shoulder and left side. He was cold, exhausted, but he couldn't manage to fall asleep, to rest. He was scared. And worst of all—the secret fear that he'd never told anyone about—...he was completely alone. Not like he had been alone when his father had taken off with no explanation three years earlier or any time that he had hunted by himself. Not even like any of the times his little brother had been taken, leaving him to worry himself sick until he found him again. All of those feelings of abandonment, anxiety, and fear paled in comparison to this. The isolation surrounding him felt like a crushing weight on his body. Despair and utter helplessness permeated the air, seeming to seep into his lungs and make it difficult to breathe.

Was this Hell? In all sense of the word, it seemed like it was, but something didn't feel quite right. It was nothing like any demon he'd ever met had described it. There was no fire. There were no angry demons waiting to get their hands on him and make him pay for sending them back to where they came from. It was nothing like he ever dared himself to picture it as.

A seemingly endless expanse of open space stretched out above and around him. Everywhere he looked there was misty, humid air. Thick chains criss-crossed and went as far as the eye could see and beyond, their origins lost in the eternal void. He had given up on trying to crane his neck around to see what was below him, but he sensed that it was more of the same.

The feeling of being suspended in a boundless world, not knowing how many feet stood below, above, or around him made his stomach tie itself into knots.

He tasted blood, smelled it, felt it sticky on his skin. He felt dirty, cold, and hot at the same time. If he moved, the hooks pulled agonizingly at his flesh, flaring blinding pain throughout his entire body and making him cry out.

Lightning jabbed at his eyes every few seconds and thunder rolled ominously at a constant rate; softer at times and jarringly loud at others.

He called desperately for help. For Sam. God he would give _anything _to see him. He hadn't gotten to tell Sam everything he'd wanted to. That he was proud of him. That he believed in him, always had, always would. That Sam was _the _only thing that kept him going sometimes. He hadn't gotten to tell Sam he loved him.

Tears dropped from his eyes and ran down his temples at the thought. He couldn't recall the last time that he'd told his little brother how much he meant to him. He knew he had said it when they were kids, but he couldn't think of one time he'd said it in their adult lives. He'd expressed it in his own way. A warm smile, a loving touch, the occasional embrace, the deal he made to bring Sam back. But he couldn't recall actually flat out telling Sam. He knew that Sam knew, but now he felt like that wasn't enough. Sam deserved to hear it. _Needed _to hear it.

Sam had never felt the need to be stoic or hide his emotions. It was one of the things that he secretly admired and envied Sam for. Sam always wore his heart on his sleeve. All his life he'd had the gift of identifying with people and getting them to open up to him. Sam had always given off a strong vibe of all things good and overall kindness. It was a quality that he loved most about his little brother.

An image of the curly-haired little four year old who would often tackle his big brother's leg and say how much he "wuved" him drifted to the front of his memory. The big sea-green eyes stared lovingly into his mind's eye and he suddenly felt a bit of his anxiety and helplessness melt away. He felt his fear lessen at the memory of the delighted giggle, felt more like himself when he pictured the shadowed dimples that at the time looked too big for the toddler's small cheeks...none of the warm feelings lasted. Thunder boomed, sounding more like an angry growl and a flash of lightning cracked. He felt electricity jolt through his body, felt it purposefully snatch the happy memory out of his mind and zap it cruelly away. His body sagged and his head hung back after the course of electricity ceased, the muscles in his neck cramping and aching from lack of support.

The feeling of complete despair returned full-force. It wasn't the first time this had happened. He found that any time he relived a happy memory or anytime he felt even a little bit better, some unseen force lurking unseen in his surroundings came out and stopped it. He growled out a cry of frustration. His throat was raw and his voice was hoarse from screaming. He pulled in a raspy, shuddering breath and shouted again into the oblivion surrounding him, imprisoning him.

"Help!...Can anybody hear me?!...Sam!?" His voice echoed tauntingly back to him.

"Please...." He whimpered. Sobs racked his broken body, pulling at the hooks in his flesh and making him cry harder. It was no use. No one had come to his aid thus far, why would this particular plea be any different? He closed his eyes, attempting to drown out the blaring lightning that he'd come to despise. He was tired. So very tired. He just wanted to be able to rest, to be lost to the solace of complete unawareness. A voice from somewhere in his head whispered smugly _"No rest." _He clenched his jaw and pulled half-heartedly at the bonds holding his wrist, not caring that it would bring him nothing more than pain. He whimpered and let his head hang back again, defeated again for what seemed like the millionth time.

Something seemed to shift in the air around him. He opened his eyes slowly as an odd sensation washed over him. It felt like a ripple moving through the air. It lasted no more than five seconds before it was lost, but it left something in its wake. Something felt..._different. _Lighter somehow. He squinted in concentration. The wave seemed to leave a presence behind. It left something that felt like...his eyes suddenly widened.

"Sam?" He whispered. The presence was familiar, cherished, comforting; it was Sam.

"Sam!?" His voice raised to a yell and he listened carefully after it finished echoing back to him. Thunder rumbled ominously and he sucked in a sharp breath before shouting again.

"Sam!" He waited, listening, sensing for anything. Nothing happened, and the presence suddenly began to fade.

"No! Sam!" He shouted, as if trying to stop its retreat, just to hold onto it a moment longer. Panic gripped him as the feeling that was his brother slipped from his perception and faded completely. The lighter feeling disappeared along with it and the full weight of the air returned to its former magnitude. He sagged against his bonds as hope lost out to despair again, wincing at the pull on his shoulder and abdomen.

This place, where or whatever it was, played evil tricks on him. Making him think that he felt his brother's presence was a cruelest one yet. He hiccuped on a sob.

"Sam...please..." His broken whimper was swallowed away by a growl of thunder. The vibrations rattled hollowly through his body, burrowing into his very core and planting a permanent reminder of how very alone he was.

_...To Be Continued..._

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_So there ya have it. That's what precious Dean is up to right now. Poor baby:(_

_Reviews are like killing Dean in disturbingly comical ways...and I'm the Trickster: )_

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes**

_Uh...I really don't have any notes this time besides that I've had this in my mind for the LOOOOOOONGest time and it feels good to finally get it into type and I hope ya'll like it._

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**Chapter 7**

After a quick lunch of mush hardly passing for chicken salad on soggy rye bread, Sam and Bobby got refills of coffee and headed back up to the third floor. Neither had said much over lunch and even less was said on the way back to Dean's room.

The walk was silent, both hunters lost in their own thoughts, heads down, though being careful to avoid bumping into the occasional passer-by in the halls. Only Sam's weary sigh filled in the silence during the short elevator ride. The bell dinged as the car reached the third floor and the two men shuffled off and took a right out of the doors.

A group of nurses wearing a rainbow of pink, orange, and balloon-printed scrubs gathered by the station just down the hall from Dean's room. As Bobby and Sam approached the station, the nurse in pink scrubs turned and Sam recognized the small woman that he'd met earlier that morning. Jillian's eyes widened upon seeing Sam and she turned to approach him. Sam's stomach tightened, unsettling his questionable lunch, and a stab of panic jolted through him. He stopped, as did Bobby, when Jillian approached them.

"Paul." Jillian smiled warmly. Sam nodded tightly, expertly cloaking his initial confusion as to why she had just called him Paul.

"My brother okay?"

Jillian nodded once. "He's just as you left him."

Sam frowned a little at the cleverly disguised un-answer. It was a dance of avoidance that Dean had resorted to many times over the years when he didn't want to talk about or give a direct answer to something. It was something Sam had become very familiar with and could spot easily.

"Dr. Herschfeld was looking for you two though. He's checking up on a few other patients and he'll be back to talk to you both in a little while. So don't wander far."

Sam felt Bobby's eyes on him, searching, waiting for his reaction, but he ignored him and smiled down at the tiny nurse standing in front of him.

"Thanks, Jillian."

Jillian patted Sam's arm, smiled at Bobby, and returned to orange and balloon-printed scrubs. Sam's jaw muscles jumped as he swallowed hard over the newly-formed lump in his throat. He turned to Bobby, finally meeting his gaze. Bobby lifted his shoulders a little.

"Could be good news."

Sam nodded vaguely. Hopeful, but still cautious. Bobby clapped him on the shoulder and urged him down the hall.

"You go ahead, I'll catch up."

Sam smiled his thanks. He knew that Bobby was concerned about Dean and wanted to be by his side too, but Sam still appreciated him allowing time alone with his brother. Sam walked past the nurses' station and a few doors before he came to Dean's room. The door was slightly ajar and Sam went to open it. A male voice coming from within stopped his hand just as his long fingers grazed the handle.

"He's been out of surgery for what? Five hours now? I know it was a major operation, but even so...most people would have woken up at least _once_ by now. If only for a second."

A second voice—female, high and a little nasally—replied.

"Looks like the handsome son of a gun's been through Hell. The doc said if he doesn't respond soon there'll be reason to worry."

A deep sigh and the male voice spoke up again. "Ya know I've been doing this gig for awhile now. And I can't tell ya how many times people have had major re-wiring done, not kicked the anesthetic, and just slipped into a coma."

"Seen a few of those myself. S'damn shame. Any of yours wake up?"

Sam hoped that perhaps choosing to enter the room at the moment would prevent the man from responding to the question he didn't want to know the answer to, but he still heard the "No" as he walked through the doorway. The voices belonged to two nurses, one standing on either side of Dean's bed.

The woman was on the far side, changing the IV bag. She looked up and startled at seeing Sam. The man noticed her surprise and turned to look as well. Sam stood, feeling irrationally angry at both people. How could they talk so nonchalantly about someone else's possible, slow demise? Not just someone. _Dean_. His brother who had put himself in danger more times in his lifetime than most firefighters or policemen, and saved scores of people; many of whom he didn't even know personally. Dean, who had sacrificed literally everything possible for his family, for his little brother. Dean, who deserved some respect. If only just a little.

The nurses must have sensed Sam's anger because their smiles faded and their eyes widened slightly with intimidation. The man turned quickly back to changing Dean's bandages and the woman hung up the fresh IV bag, unclipped the drip hold, and walked quickly past Sam, her head down and her eyes purposefully looking at anything but him. Sam followed her with his eyes as she left then flicked his sharp gaze to the male nurse who was still hastily changing Dean's bandages.

Sam shuffled over to the wall and leaned against it. His shoulders hunched and he shoved the hand not holding his coffee into the front, left pocket of his jeans. The nurse's movements were rushed and jolty, but he successfully applied the final piece of medical tape to the wrapping around Dean's chest and stumbled out of the room, closing the door behind him. Sam glared after the man and sighed when the door clicked shut.

He looked over at Dean and the scowl melted from his face. Other than the fresh bandages, his brother remained the same. Sam shook his head at his own naiveness at thinking that something would have changed in the sixty-three minutes he'd left Dean by himself. While a part of him hoped and expected Dean to wake up at any moment, a teasing at the back of Sam's mind and the dark pit in his stomach quickly countered. He couldn't shake his reccuring nightmare. Every moment left alone to himself, the horrific images would flare up, bringing with them an intense feeling of dread and an overall chill. The dream once again reared its head and pushed Sam to quickly close the distance between himself and his resting brother.

"Hey. I'm back. Just grabbed something to eat with Bobby." All anger had drained from Sam and he spoke in a soft, soothing voice. He returned to the awaiting chair next to Dean's bed as he rambled on about the sucky cafeteria food but how the coffee wasn't half bad. He went on to retell a few cherished memories that came to mind, asking without waiting for a reply if Dean remembered them. Sam talked just about anything that he could think of to fill the silence, but he could only keep that up for so long and each time Dean failed to respond, he lost a little more heart until he finally gave up and fell silent. He slumped back in the chair and placed the now cold cup of coffee on the table next to the bed.

He wondered if Dean could even hear him. Sam had talked to him when he was in a coma after the run-in with the Yellow-Eyed Demon, but after he woke up Dean never mentioned hearing him. Sam wondered if a Oujia board would work again, a part of him hoping that it would not due to the fact that that would mean that Dean was a lot worse off than he wanted to believe.

As if lurking in the depths of Sam's mind—waiting, feeding off of his growing despair—darker thoughts drifted to the front of Sam's awareness. His own voice echoed suddenly through his memory.

_"No! Stop!" _

_Dean's tortured cries. Blood._

Sam squeezed his eyes shut at the unpleasantly vivid replay of the memory. He shook his head as if to rid it of the images and poked his thumb and index finger into his scrunched eyes.

_Claws ripping through Dean's flesh. His back. Shoulder. Chest. More blood._

_"Stop it!"_

His voice sounded louder that time. Pressure built somewhere behind Sam's eyes, throbbing with each heavy beat of his heart. A low groan rumbled in his throat and he leaned forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

_The bitch laughing. Enjoying Dean's pain and Sam's anguish._

_Dean slipping away. Quiet all of the sudden. His pain-filled eyes staring as the light in them faded. He was dying. Sam was watching his brother die._

_Hooks, blood, Dean's terrified screams of plea._

_"Somebody help me! Saaaam!"_

The pressure built and flared, spreading and filling Sam's entire head with stabbing pain. He felt his heart break all over again, the images playing out beyond his control, way too real for his liking.

_Dean's dead expression, his blank staring gaze._

_"No!"_

_"Yes." _

The voice hissed in his ear. Sam jerked away from the sound, swearing that someone had just whispered in his ear. He pulled in a sharp breath and blinked his eyes open, the surroundings of the hospital room slowly creeping back into focus. Breath drew and left in quick bursts and Sam felt his heart racing wildly, each beat a painful thump inside his skull. His eyes felt hot and too big for the sockets that held them. He looked down and found the floor tiles in his direct line of sight. He was bent over, half out of the chair. His right arm stretched before him. His palm lay flat against the floor, fingers spread wide to brace himself. The other was crushed between his upper body and thigh. Carefully, as to not further increase the violent, rhythmic pounding in his head, Sam pushed himself upright, pulling in deep, steadying breaths. Dean swam into distorted focus and Sam quickly brushed his eyes dry, annoyed by the obstruction.

He let out a breathy sigh at seeing that Dean remained the same: his chest rising and falling with life and his heartbeat channeling through the beeps filling the room. Sam took in a deep, measured breath and let it out just as carefully. He winced as his head throbbed a particularly painful beat and he lifted his hands to his temples, rubbing counter clockwise with his index and middle fingers.

What the hell had _that_ been? Since when did remembering something hurt? And since when did memories come with surround sound and special effects? Sam squinted, finally able to wonder why the memory had seemed to effect him in such a physical manner; he felt exhausted, drained, and his head felt like someone decided to use it as a percussion instrument. It had all felt so real, like he had been experiencing it all over again. _"What the hell just happened?"_

"S-Sam?"

Sam's head whipped around, startled by the gruff, quiet voice. Bobby had come into the room at some point and he stood by the door. He was pressed into the corner where the doorway and adjacent wall met, staring at Sam with eyes wide enough that the white showed nearly all around the irises. Sam swallowed over the tight feeling in his throat and hung his head.

"Bobby, hey...Just uh..." He reached up and rubbed hard at his forehead. "Just give me a minute, alright?"

"Sam what the hell just happened?"

Sam flicked his head to the side, a puzzled look pulling down his eyebrows. Had he wondered that exact thought aloud before? How did Bobby know something had happened?

"What do you mean?"

Bobby walked forward, caution evident in his jolted steps.

"What do I mean? I ran in here cause I heard you hollering Dean's name. I thought..." Bobby rubbed at the top of his forehead. Sam's expression softened. He didn't realize he had screamed, but he could imagine what it must have sounded like to Bobby.

"Oh...sorry, I...I didn't realize. I-" Sam stopped short as his gaze drifted and stilled on Dean's blanket. His eyes widened as they caught on a spot of red blossoming across the sheets. Sam stood quickly, causing the chair to tip dangerously before clattering back down onto all fours. He rushed around the side of the bed to find the IV pole tipped over on the ground. The blood transfusion tube had been ripped from Dean's arm and was leaking over the floor. Sam quickly checked his brother. The source of the blood covering the blanket was from where the line had been torn from Dean's arm. Sam clamped a hand over the hole in his brother's arm and bent it at the elbow, staunching the blood flow. The IV tube hooked to Dean's hand had somehow managed to stay attached, but it pulled tight against his skin. Bobby got to the IV pole first and righted it and Sam hit the nurse call button.

He kept the pressure on Dean's arm and flicked wide, panicked eyes up to Bobby. The older man reflected the stare, mild fear showing through as well. Sam looked past him and stared in confused shock as he noticed for the first time the condition that the room was in. The whiteboard that held the date and the name of the nurse on duty had fallen off the wall. The mirror mounted over the sink was cracked, a few pieces had fallen and shattered in the basin, and paper towels from the dispenser to the right of it littered the stainless steel counter and the floor. The only window in the room had a crack snaking jaggedly across it and any other randomly placed object in the room was on the floor or in some other form of disarray. Sam's mouth moved voicelessly like a landed fish and he blinked dumbly at Bobby.

"Wha-...?" was all Sam's swirling mind could offer.

Bobby just stared mutely at him. A nurse came into the room, looking a little annoyed and rather bored before she saw the state of the room. Her eyes widened and she leaned out the door to call something down the hall. Turning back into the room, she rushed over to the bed and her eyes immediately zeroed on the blood covering the floor and blanket.

"What happened?"

Sam shook his head numbly. "I don't...I don't know."

The nurse looked around the room quickly and when her eyes got back to Sam, she regarded him with a suspicious look. She pursed her lips and straightened up, her small frame still dwarfed next to Sam. "Please step aside, sir."

Sam didn't miss the flash in the nurse's eyes, or her new found tone.

"_I _didn't do this." Sam scoffed, sounding genuinely innocent and a little angry.

A second nurse appeared behind the one glaring at Sam, seeming to interpret the situation the same way as the first one.

"Step aside. We've got it covered." The nurse repeated flatly.

Sam's lip twitched at a sudden and intense feeling of dislike for the bossy woman half his size. He reluctantly released Dean's arm, his brother's blood still warm on his hand, and took a slow step back. He returned the nurses' glares and watched as they went to work righting the transfusion line.

Sam jumped at the hand on his arm and tore his eyes away from Dean to look at Bobby. The steely-blue gaze stared at him with what looked like a hint of awe. Something close to fear lurking in the worn hunter's eyes puzzled Sam and he complied as Bobby pulled him out of the room without saying a word. He wanted to complain as Bobby closed the door behind them once they got to the hall, blocking his view of Dean, but Bobby continued to pull Sam along down the hall and didn't stop until they'd passed through a set of double doors into a darkened wing that had been closed.

"Bobby, what?"

Bobby released his hold on Sam's forearm and rubbed both hands roughly over his face. Panic spiked in Sam. Demons? Had demons done that? Had the lines been breached? Broken somehow? Hatred flared, caused Sam's hands to clench into fists. Lillith?

"Bobby." Sam's voice pitched low, the single name said as a warning.

Bobby's eyes drifted about and slowly worked their way to Sam's face, though he still did not meet the frazzled young man's gaze. Sam straightened up to his full height and squared his shoulders. His fists clenched at his sides. He was tired of being treated like a child, like he couldn't handle the truth. Secrets. Always secrets, none of which he was ever in on.

"If you know something, you'd better tell me. Right. Now."

Bobby nodded slowly. "I uh-" He cleared his throat. "I was waiting outside, to give you some time, ya know? And I heard you yell Dean's name all of the sudden. You sounded...scared, down right terrified. Not sure how no one else heard, but I rushed in and..."

Bobby paused, looking as if he was searching for something. Sam shifted his weight impatiently. His fingers curled, clenched, then relaxed over and over again.

"Bobby. Tell. Me-"

"Sam the room was shaking." Bobby's words came out in a rush. Sam's frustration drained away and his shoulders slumped. He felt the pounding in his head anew as his heart rate rose. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Shaking?"

"Looked liked an earthquake was passing. Everything was falling all over the place, the window damn near rattled out of its frame."

Sam stared blankly at his clearly shell-shocked friend. He hadn't even felt anything. What was Bobby trying to...Sam's expression softened, eyebrows raising a little.

"You think it was me." It wasn't so much a question as a statement waiting to be proven as false.

Bobby shrugged minutely, his wide eyes still sizing up Sam slowly. Sam moved his hands to his hips and paced away down the dark corridor. He walked five, measured steps then turned on his heel and went back.

"No. _No_, this doesn't happen anymore. I haven't had any visions, dreams, nothing since Wyoming. It all stopped after-" _"Not gone. Dormant." _Ruby's words echoed through Sam's mind. She had said that he could save Dean. Hell, Sam had been willing to try. His mind raced in a near incoherent stream of thought. Did he still have abilities? Had he been the one to turn Dean's room upside down? Lillith's powers had been ineffective on him. Whatever was supposed to accompany that white light had somehow failed when turned upon him. Sam had pondered it briefly before, but it suddenly stood out in his mind again. And those dreams he'd been having; they were so vivid and disturbing. Also, the effect the memory of Dean being attacked by the hell hound had had on him had been odd...almost physically exhausting.

Sam didn't even realize he'd started pacing, but he stopped short. That was what he'd been thinking of at the time when Bobby said the room had been shaking. Sam became very still as the time he'd somehow moved that china-cabinet back in Michigan flicked to the front of his memory. He had seen Dean die, and had moved the damn thing. Just pushed it three feet like it was nothing, and without even touching it. Sam remembered the intense panic he'd felt. The pure, raw desperation that rushed him like a breaking dam after he'd had the vision of Dean dying. He realized he'd felt the same way when the hell hound got Dean and again just a few minutes earlier when he'd relived it in perfect detail.

The magnitude of the possibility made Sam take in a sharp breath. It fit. Bobby's assumption was right, and so was Ruby: Sam's powers had been hidden, dormant, for nearly a year, but now they had awakened and apparently with more power than before. Sam brought his right hand up, his palm spanning over his eyes, and rubbed his throbbing temples with his thumb and middle finger.

"God." He felt Bobby's eyes on him, but kept his eyes squeezed shut and continued to massage his temples. "What-?..._How_ is this even possible?"

He dropped his hand and looked up in time to see Bobby shrug, looking truly perplexed.

"I wish I had the answer for ya, Sam."

Sam's shoulders slumped. He hadn't expected Bobby to know, but still felt disappointed when he didn't. The feeling of complete loss of control crept and coiled around Sam's heart. A part of him thought—hoped, _pleaded_—that the absence of his powers meant that perhaps his destiny could change, that he had the ability to change it. No visions or even dreams had occurred since the Yellow-Eyed Demon was killed. Sam had concluded that his powers had been tied to it somehow and had vanquished with the Demon's death. He'd thought that perhaps he was in the clear. There was no risk of going dark side if no one was there to push him towards it. But now, Sam felt his miscalculations like a physical weight on his shoulders.

"Let's just focus on Dean gettin' better for now. When he wakes up, we'll worry about what happened back there. Who knows, maybe he'll have an idea."

Sam's head snapped towards Bobby, his sea-green eyes wide and wild. "You can't tell him."

Bobby heard Dean's voice in the words. _"You take a shot at me, whatever you gotta do, but please don't tell him." _It was starting to freak him out how many times Sam had reminded him of his older brother over the past year.

"Why not?"

"_Why_?" Sam's head flicked back in incredulity. "Because he doesn't need that extra burden after all he's been through, that's why!"

"I understand that, Sam. But he's your brother. He'll want to know-"

"No! It would kill him, Bobby."

Bobby's brows dipped. "What? They're just powers, Sam."

"No, they're _my _powers. Come on, you know that the Demon had plans for people like me."

"Yeah, but the Demon's dead, Sam."

"Right and look what happened anyway."

Bobby opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly. Sam raised his eyebrows and spread his arms expectantly, but still Bobby said nothing.

"Max, Andy's brother, Ava, _Jake_..." Sam counted the name's off on his fingers, practically hissing the last name. "...They _all_ bought into the Demon's plan."

Bobby saw where Sam was going and took a step towards him.

"Sam that doesn't mean you will. You didn't, still haven't." Bobby voice had softened to intend comfort, but Sam chuckled almost hysterically at the words.

"And I suppose Dad made Dean promise him just to keep him on his toes, right?"

Bobby started to speak, but paused. A puzzled look crept over his face. "What do you mean '_promise_'?"

Sam rolled his eyes impatiently. "What he told Dean about me right before he died?"

Bobby shook his head. He closed his eyes, Sam's unhinged train of thought was starting to make him feel dizzy. "Sam, I don't kn-"

"When he told Dean that he'd have to ki-"

Sam stopped short, the last word choking him, forbidding him to finish. His eyes widened slightly as his face slowly lost all signs of anger and frustration. He realized that he had never told Bobby what Dean had confessed to him after the demon incident in Oregan, and apparently Dean hadn't either. Sam's eyes welled a little at the renewed feeling of the weight Dean's promise had placed on both of them. He swallowed over the sudden lump in his throat, forgetting the fire of anger and frustration that had fueled his animated argument just moments earlier.

"Sam?" Bobby's voice held concern and curiosity. "What did Dean promise?...You okay?"

Sam started to shake his head, but stopped and nodded once. "M'fine. Never mind, Bobby."

"Sam-"

"I _said_ nevermind. It's not important right now and it won't solve anything."

The door to the darkened wing swung open suddenly and Dr. Herschfeld poked his head in, saving Sam from Bobby's still-inquisitive stare.

"Thought I heard voices." Dr. Herschfeld replied, looking from Bobby's stressed expression to Sam's pinched, crushed one. "I'm glad I found you." He continued. "I need to speak with you gentlemen about Simon."

Sam's stomach twisted as he recalled the nurses' conversation he'd overheard outside Dean's room. That, mixed with Dr. Herschfeld's current expression, made him feel nauseous with dread.

"What about him?" Bobby spoke and Sam glanced a look at him, grateful he had asked first; the feeling of nausea was getting hard to control and he was sure attempting to speak wouldn't have helped much. Herschfeld opened his mouth, but paused and looked around. He looked down the dark, deserted hallway and then back behind him before emerging all the way through the doors and standing before Bobby and Sam.

"Well, I suppose here is as good a place to talk as any. Private at least."

"About my brother?" Sam nudged impatiently, successfully willing the churning feeling in his stomach back enough to talk.

Herschfeld swept his eyes over Sam briefly. "Right. Well...I can't lie, I'm concerned. The anesthetic should have worn off hours ago, but Simon still hasn't regained consciousness. Not once."

Sam and Bobby shared a look. Sam looked away first.

"What does that mean?" His voice was low and clipped.

"I'm not sure. Everything went well. I didn't think his body would have trouble working through the anesthetic, even in its challenged state."

"But now you do." Sam provided, lowering his head a little, a part of him hoping that the doctor would disagree with his assumption.

The doctor shrugged in a defeated manner and he motioned vaguely with his right hand. "I'd like to run a few tests. An MRI, a CT scan. That might be able to tell us what we're dealing with."

Dr. Herschfeld held Sam's gaze and he raised his eyebrows. Sam nodded, sensing the doctor's silent request of consent. Herschfeld nodded curtly.

"One more question, why is Frank the security guard standing outside Simon's room?"

Sam's eyebrows began to dip, but stopped halfway. His face fell and he rolled his eyes.

"Something wrong, Mr. Kirke?"

Sam chuckled bitterly and shook his head incredulously. "Something...happened in my brother's room. The IV stand got knocked over and the transfusion line got pulled."

Sam looked up at the doctor, letting him piece together the rest.

"And someone seems to think one of you had something to do with it?"

Sam saw Bobby's look out of his periphery, but kept his expression the same. "Appears so."

Dr. Herschfeld nodded slowly as his eyes moved between the two men, sizing them up. He met Sam's gaze again and nodded once.

"Wouldn't believe it for a second. Go back to Simon, I'll call off the hit." Herschfeld smiled, the first smile Sam had seen on the man that actually held warmth. Sam seemed to suddenly realize that he had almost been forcibly kept from Dean and he smiled in thankful relief at Dr. Herschfeld.

"I appreciate it."

Herschfeld backed up, pushing open one of the doors. "I'll set up the tests for Simon."

With that he turned out the door and headed for the heavy-set security guard standing in the hall outside Dean's room. Sam and Bobby watched him through the windows of the double doors. Dr. Herschfeld walked up to the guard, exchanged a few words with him, patted his arm good-naturedly, and they both walked away down the hall.

"I take it back..." Sam looked up at Bobby's words. Bobby looked from the doctor's retreating back to Sam, a respectful smile crinkling his eyes. "...I like the man."

_...To Be Continued..._

Oo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oO

_If I do say so myself, I rather like that chapter: ) I hope ya'll do too._

_So yes...we're getting a little further into the heart of the story and uh...yeah, that's all I'm gonna say cause I haven't had breakfast yet and I'm hungry_

_Reviews are like cream cheese...and I'm a bagel(Mmm, I know what I'M having for breakfast: D)_

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes**

_Ok there's a few more medical terms that I know little about in this chapter. If you see something that doesn't make sense to you, just smile and wave: )_

_We're getting a little more into what the dealio with Dean is so those of you who might be evolving a few theories...nows your time to see if you're right._

_This was another fun one to right. Hope ya'll like. Let me know; )_

Oo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oO

_"Something isn't right. I can feel it again, feel it again. This isn't the first time, that you've left me waiting."_

_-Good Charlotte "Predictable"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 8**

Bobby and Sam walked back down to Dean's room. The nurse who had first suspected Sam of trying to kill his brother—and who he was sure had called security on him—stood by the nurses' station and gave Sam a disgusted looked as he passed. Sam gazed mildly at the nurse and gave her a sarcastically sweet smile. The smile turned genuine as the nurse made a low grumbling sound and hunched over a patient's chart. Sam supressed a chuckle and congratulated himself for channeling his brother's patented smartass/cockiness so well. He could clearly picture Dean's lopsided smirk of approval, could almost hear the familiar praise of "That's m'boy." The thought caused Sam's heart to ache and his smile faded a litte.

"Kind of a shame." Bobby said in a low voice so only Sam could hear. "It would have been entertaining watching them try to keep you outta here."

He threw a quick wink at Sam as he opened the door to Dean's room. Sam chuckled and nodded in agreement. It _would _have taken a hell of a lot more than one security guard and a nurse a little over half his size to keep him away from Dean. The room had been straightened up to the way it had been before Sam's apparent physic escapade. The IV stand had been righted, the tubes put back into Dean's arm, and the bloodied blanket had been replaced with a clean, powder-blue one.

Bobby moved around the far side of the bed with his hands shoved in his front jean pockets, silently offering Sam the chair next to Dean's bed. Sam checked above the doorway, bathroom door, and the window to make sure the lines had not been broken. Certain that they held strong, he crossed back to the chair and sank down into it.

Both hunters silently regarded their fallen companion, saying nothing and not moving for a long time. The bedside vigil was interrupted when a male nurse with overly gelled hair that pointed out in spikes walked into the room. Sam's imagination led him to believe that if one of the jet-black tufts were to be touched, it might pierce right through the skin. He read the man's name tag and found that his name was Paul. He smiled weakly at the coincidence of the orderly having the same name as his current fake alias. Paul nodded respectfully to Sam then to Bobby and said something about a scheduled MRI and CT scan, to which both men simply nodded. Paul sneaked past Bobby to get to the IV pole. He clamped the lines and disconnected the tubes from the ports in the back of Dean's hand and lower arm, then released the break on the bed and started to ease it towards the door.

Sam stood quickly, keeping close to Dean, and asked if he might come along. Paul made a clicking sound out of the side of his mouth after thinking for a moment. The action reminded Sam of his brother and the ache of longing he felt to see Dean awake and well again increased.

"I guess you could, but you'd have to wait outside the room anyway and to be honest, it'd be no different than if you waited anywhere else."

Sam's eyes drifted down to Dean's lax features. His jaw muscles twitched as he debated the matter.

"It's not gonna take too long. Just an hour or so." Paul offered when Sam still seemed indecisive.

Sam nodded once finally. "I'll just wait here."

The nurse nodded and pivoted the bed, backing out into the hallway.

"Ohp, I almost forgot." Paul stopped suddenly, halfway out into the hall, and dug into the right-hand breast pocket of his cranberry-colored scrubs. "Dr. Herschfeld told me to return these to you."

Paul stretched his arm over the bed towards Sam and uncurled his fingers. A familiar, double-banded silver ring and the amulet that never left its place against Dean's chest lay in the small palm. Sam's heart clenched as his eyes focused past the offerings to Dean. He suddenly noticed how odd his brother looked without the gold charm hanging safely around his neck. Sam blinked and carefully collected the items from Paul, treating them as if they might break if handled with too little care. He cleared his throat. "Thanks."

Paul smiled and promptly finished pulling the bed from the room. Sam and Bobby followed out into the hall and watched as the orderly wheeled Dean away down the hall, not looking anywhere else until both disappeared onto an elevator. Sam breathed out a sigh and looked down at the trinkets lying in his hand. He thumbed the amulet over until it's little, tarnished face looked up at him. He rubbed it gently, lost in thought.

"I gave that to you to give to your Daddy." Bobby said in a quiet voice.

"Yeah." Sam replied absently, not really paying much attention to the response he gave.

"You wanted a Christmas present for him. Don't think I ever asked how it wound up with Dean."

Sam closed his fingers around the ring and necklace and put them in the right pocket of his jacket. He took in a long breath as he looked back up the hallway, keeping his hand grasped around the precious articles.

"I don't remember." Sam lied. He remembered perfectly. Just five months earlier he had been reminded of the Christmas he'd given Dean the necklace. The memory crested in a wave of warmth and nostalgia and crashed down with the omnipresent fear of losing his brother. Sam couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. His dreams had planted a seed of dread and Dr. Herschfeld's concern over the fact that Dean hadn't woken up yet buried that fear deeper to form a tight knot in Sam's stomach.

He shuffled wordlessly back into the room and sat back down in the chair that stood next to the now-empty space where Dean used to be. He heard Bobby walk quietly in behind him and a moment later, Sam saw him stop to look out—or perhaps at—the cracked window. Sam noticed the stiff way Bobby stood. Saw the tense way he held his slumped shoulders. Sam could tell the man was itching to again ask the question he had refused to answer earlier. Sam did not feel compelled to ease Bobby's mind though. If Dean had failed to mention the morbid bit of world-shattering information to Bobby, it meant that he should too. And as he had said before, it wouldn't help Dean and it sure as hell wouldn't help him. He already felt the world crushing down on him. Voicing the promise, having to relive what it had been like when he'd first heard it, would likely be the last straw on the camel's back.

"Sam." Sam almost flinched as he heard his name. He wondered how long Bobby would be able to contain himself before asking again. Sam tightened his jaw, muscles all over his body tensing, preparing himself against the question. Bobby turned and face him. "You don't remember that you did.._.this_?" He motioned at the room in general with a sweep of his left arm.

Sam relaxed. Bobby hadn't posed the question he had expected and dreaded, but it was still one that required contemplation he wasn't sure he was up for at the moment. Sam shrugged lightly and shook his head.

"I just...spaced out, I guess."

Bobby dropped his head and walked slowly towards where Sam sat. "You weren't..._thinking_ about anything?"

Sam looked down at his thumbs as he twiddled them restlessly. "Just uh...just Dean, ya know?"

Bobby's eyes skimmed quickly over Sam's slouched posture, catching the well of his eyes and the set of his jaw. "About how..._it _happened?" He asked softly.

Sam threw a downcast, sideways glance at him and nodded after a moment. Bobby nodded his head slowly, eyes darting back in forth in thought. "Was it like the cabinet in Saginaw?"

Sam's head shot up and he stared wide-eyed at Bobby, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "How'd you know about that?"

Bobby shrugged and smiled wanly. "Who do you think your brother talks to when he doesn't want you to know he's scared?"

Sam opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to come up with a response. His jaw muscles jumped as he shut his mouth again. He looked away from Bobby, eyes swinging back and forth in thought. Dean had admitted fear to Sam fewer times than he could count on one hand, and he knew Dean had been lying when he'd said his visions didn't freak him out, but for some reason it didn't occur to Sam that Dean would actually talk to anyone else about it. Dean was usually very reluctant to let _anyone _know about Sam's visions. Even though he understood his reasoning, Sam felt a slight pang of hurt that Dean had confided in Bobby about his fear and not him.

"That giant brain of yours has been going a hundred a minute since the room got trashed, Sam. I know the possibility has crossed your mind too."

Sam licked his lips and reluctantly looked back at Bobby. The sharp, blue eyes looked evenly at Sam, telling him that it was okay to share what was on his mind. Sam sighed heavily and nodded.

"It fits, doesn't it?" He said quietly, his eyes closing for a moment as if wearied by the resignation the spoken words implied. "Back in Michigan, after I uh...after I saw Dean die in my vision, it was like..." Sam's hands made useless, lazy motions as he relived the memory, trying to re-grasp the feelings he'd felt. Bobby pulled up the chair from by the window and sat in it before Sam. He leaned forward against his knees and waited patiently for Sam to finish.

"...It was like...I couldn't let it happen. And I don't mean like I just _wouldn't _let it, but like it...was not even a possibility." Sam's eyes narrowed as he went back over what he'd just said and saw how little of it made sense. "I can't really describe it any better, but-"

"I get what you're saying, son." Bobby interrupted softy. Sam's shoulders sagged a bit. He looked exhausted again. Bobby offered where he thought Sam's line of reasoning was headed, saving the poor man the trouble. "Was it the same deal this time?"

Sam's lips pushed out a bit and he canted his head briefly to one side in a movement of affirmation. His expression tightened and he looked back down at his hands. When he looked back up at Bobby his eyes were hard. "But why couldn't this have happened when the hell hound got Dean?"

Sam's voice was cold, laced with self-loathing, and made a bit louder by anger. "Why did it happen now, huh? Why not when it actually could have _done _something to prevent him from going through that?"

"Sam-"

"I could've stopped it. I could've saved him from that torture. I could have killed that bitch before she had the chance to escape. But now she's God knows where and Dean's not waking up. Gah-something's wrong, I can feel it-"

"Hey!" Bobby grabbed Sam's lower arms and gave him a shake. Sam blinked, snapping out of whatever trance his rushed rant was leading him into, and lifted eyes to Bobby that at the moment looked a quarter of his real age.

"This is not your fault." Bobby said slowly, carefully. "You can't just turn it off and on. Don't you _dare _blame yourself. There's nothing you could've done."

Sam was already shaking his head. "You didn't see him, Bobby. He was..." The air seemed to be stolen out of Sam's lungs and he sucked in a sharp breath as he again saw his brother's pain-contorted face, heard his tortured cries. "...I could've stopped that." Sam's suddenly quiet voice matched the age of his eyes: a scared four-year old pleading for someone to make it all better. Bobby squeezed Sam's arms to bring his attention back.

"Stop beating yourself up, kid. You may not have stopped Lillith, but your brother is alive because of you."

A bitter laugh forced the awaiting tears down Sam's face. "How do you figure?"

"What do you think is keeping him here?"

_"I have no idea." _Sam wanted to say, because he didn't. He didn't know what was wrong with Dean. He didn't know why he kept having the same dream over and over again. All he knew was the fear that both unanswered questions wrapped around his heart.

"You." Bobby said softly. "He's holding on for you, Sam."

Sam's right foot bounced his leg up and down and he kneaded the knuckles on his right hand into the soft of his left palm. A lopsided smile pulled up the side of his mouth. "Dean would so make fun of you right now."

Bobby rolled his eyes and ducked his head to readjust his hat. "I think you just did it for him."

Sam breathed out a laugh and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I'm serious though, Sam." Bobby continued, straightening back up. Sam's face had already sobered and he nodded to let Bobby know he knew.

"I know he is, it's just..." Sam shook his head lightly.

"Just what?" Bobby challenged softly, weariness sounding in his voice.

"I just can't shake the feeling something's goin' on here. I mean...why hasn't he woken up yet?"

Bobby shrugged limply. "That's what they're trying to figure out right now."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the open door, pulling both hunters attention around to look towards the sound.

"Uh, hi?" A shy-looking, blonde nurse said from the doorway. "Are you the family of Simon Kirke?"

"Yes." Bobby and Sam said in near-perfect unison. The nurse walked in, her white sneakers making a squeaky sound on her first step forward. "Dr. Herschfeld wanted me to bring you both down to Radiology. He wants to talk to you about Simon's tests."

"But he was just taken down there. Nurse said it would be an hour." Sam explained, not being able to stop the automatic reaction of suspicion that years of hunting had drilled into his head.

"He's scheduled for a CT scan and an MRI, but the doctor decided to take a few brain-wave readings first. That's what he wanted to see you both about." The nurse explained, her voice inflecting upwards a bit at the end of each sentence she said.

Bobby and Sam shared a look of apprehension and stood to follow the nurse, who introduced herself as Amy as she lead them through the hall, to the elevator, and down one floor to level three of the hospital.

"Are you his brother?" Amy asked Sam as she pressed the button to open a set of double-doors after they'd walked a ways from the elevator.

"Yeah. He's my big brother." Sam elaborated quietly, lifting his shoulder up a little.

"So good looks just run in the family, huh?" Amy smiled at Sam and blushed, turning her face away as they walked through the doors. Sam looked over at Bobby who just shrugged, a mildly amused look on his face. Sam's jaw tightened as he looked back ahead. He couldn't tell if the nurse was flirting with him or with his unconscious brother. Actually, he couldn't believe anyone would attempt to flirt at a time like this. Sam readjusted his shoulders with a quick, up and backwards motion as if shaking off both thoughts. Amy stopped at a door and stepped inside.

"Dr. Herschfeld? Simon's family, sir."

The room was full of various instruments of technology. A few light boxes used for viewing x-rays hung on the walls, and one side of the room was lined with a set of computers and a window overlooking a room housing a CT scanner.

"Thanks, Amy." Dr. Herschfeld motioned for Sam and Bobby to enter and Amy closed the door after them as she left the room.

"I assume you've found something, doc?" Bobby asked as Sam turned to study the room on the other side of the glass partition.

"Simon's on his way to get an MRI. We haven't done a CT yet, but we have conducted a test using an electroencephalogram. It's a machine that measures brain waves."

Sam quickly lost interest in the large machine on the other side of the glass and he looked over when the doctor paused. Herschfeld was looking down at a piece of paper in his hands, his features filled with blank confusion.

"And?" Sam urged as he shuffled over to Bobby where he stood before the doctor. Herschfeld looked up and glanced between the two men.

"The results from Simon's electroencephalogram strongly reflect those of a person in a state of high panic." He said, speaking slowly as if measuring the accuracy of what he was saying. Sam blinked at the doctor, absorbing the words but finding none of his own with which to respond. The silence from the man next to him suggested that Bobby was having the same problem. Herschfeld shrugged in a resigned manner and turned the paper, holding out for whoever cared to look at it.

"I...I have no explanation for it. We reconducted the test three times to make sure there was no mistake, and all of the charts looked like this."

Sam took the sheet and looked down at it. The paper looked like the readings from a seismograph. Tight, squiggly lines covered the entire page, going all the way to the edge on either side.

"They're beta waves. Present in people's brains when they're feeling excited, scared or, as I said with Simon, panicked. It doesn't make sense though. The only waves that should be present in Simon's brain right now are delta waves: the ones given off during deep sleep. The only time I've seen a reading like this when the patient isn't conscious was taken during an epileptic seizure, and Simon clearly did not have one of those during the readings. Nevertheless, this..." Herschfeld motioned his hand, palm up, at the chart in Sam's hands. "...is what keeps coming up."

Sam listened silently as the doctor spoke, staring at the page as if trying to find answers hidden somewhere in the dark, jagged lines.

"You've never heard of anything like this, doc?" Sam heard Bobby ask. He looked up in time to see Dr. Herschfeld finish shaking his head.

"Simon's getting an MRI right now, and like I said he's scheduled for a CT." He motioned with a small nod of his head to the machine in the adjacent room. "But...that's all we can really do right now."

Sam had looked back down at the paper a few moments after Herschfeld had started talking. He'd listened to the words and kept his eyes on the lines, but was not really hearing the doctor or seeing the paper. What he saw was Dean. What he heard was Dean. Bleeding, crying, yelling, scared..._panicked._ _"...strongly reflect those of a person in a state of high panic." _The connection clicked in Sam's brain and his fingers curled tightly around the paper held in them.Sam had felt that something was off from the moment he woke up from his dream the first time. He'd hunted too long. He'd become too familiar with hunches and intuition to be able to just ignore them. Dean was in trouble. And the paper currently clutched in his hands confirmed it.

Sam blinked when Bobby's face appeared before him and he realized one of the men must have been saying something to him. Sam dropped his hands to his sides, the right one fisting the test sheet, and lifted his head. Both Bobby and Dr. Herschfeld regarded him with identical looks of concern and gentle sympathy. Sam just looked back at them, jaw iron-set, mouth turned down grimly.

"You alright?" Bobby asked slowly. Sam's eyes darted between him and the doctor and back to Bobby again. He locked eyes with the older hunter and he ducked his head a little to look at him through his eyelashes. The muscles in Sam's jaw rippled slightly, completing a look that clearly said: "We need to talk..._now_."

Without a word, Sam handed the crumpled paper back to Herschfeld and turned, walking out of the room. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he moved swiftly down the hall. He heard Bobby's muffled voice in the room then jogging footsteps coming up behind him.

"What is it?" Bobby ducked his head around to try to catch Sam's attention as he hurried to keep up with his long stride. He grabbed Sam's arm, attempting to stop him. "Sam-"

"Something's wrong." Sam interrupted as he pulled his arm from Bobby's grasp, not slowing his pace.

"I know. That's what Dr. Herschfeld just told us-"

"No." Sam stopped in the middle of the empty hall and looked at Bobby finally. "Something is really, _really _wrong. Like _our job_ type of wrong."

Bobby's arms were spread out a his side, palms up in question. He walked back the few steps he'd gained when Sam had stopped abruptly. "What...What makes you think that?"

"Besides the fact that Dean's brain is going nuts when it should be resting and Herschfeld said he's never seen anything like this..." Sam's hands swept under his dark gray jacket and rested on his hips. He turned, looking both ways down the hall. Seeing no one, he leaned closer to Bobby and lowered his voice. "I told I thought something was up, right?"

Bobby shrugged a little. "Yeah, but you never really told me why."

"I've been..." Sam paused and blew out a quick breath. "I've been having this uh...this dream, Bobby. Two times now. And it always feels like...like how my dreams that came true used to feel."

Bobby's face softened a little in understanding and he sized Sam up quickly. "You saw Dean?"

Sam nodded tightly, his lips thinning in a way that suggested that he was trying to keep his lunch from making a second appearance.

"What did you see?"

Sam dropped his gaze a moment, his right index finger rubbing absently at his hip in an agitated manner. He shook his head after a second. Detail wasn't important at the moment and even if it were, Sam was not interested in putting into words the terror his dreams showed him. "I just see Dean. And he needs help."

"Okay, so how do we give it to him?"

"That's the thing..." Sam had lifted his eyes to watch as a nurse appeared out of the elevator a ways down the hall. He looked back at Bobby when he saw that the woman was walking in the opposite direction from where they stood. "I think..." Sam stopped, his mouth moving silently when he couldn't figure out how to break his theory to Bobby. He sighed and shuffled his weight between his feet a few times. "Okay, you're just gonna have to trust me, I know how crazy it's gonna sound, but I can't really explain how I..._why _I think this is right."

"Okay." Bobby drew out the word a bit, already looking at Sam like he was crazy.

"I think Dean is trapped..." Sam raised his eyebrows at Bobby, testing to see what he'd say. Bobby lowered his head a little, indicating for Sam to go on. "Inside his...himself." Sam finished.

Bobby's hat moved with his eyebrows in an upward motion. "How?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "I don't know how, it's just...it's just a feeling. But I mean, you heard the doctor, he's never seen this happen. So what if Dean's brain is in a full-on freak out because something is trapping him somewhere in there and he can't do anything about it."

Bobby's expression softened and his shoulders relaxed back. "Are you thinkin' what I think you are?"

Sam's expression visibly darkened, his sea-green eyes flashing hot with pure loathing. "Lillith." He all but hissed. "During the attack she..." Sam cleared his throat. "I _distracted_ her and she fled. Maybe she wasn't able to finish the job."

"How'd you get her to leave?" Bobby asked, a hint of awe in his voice. Sam averted his gaze and shrugged, but answer truthfully.

"I don't know...look, never mind. What if she's keeping Dean like this until she can come to..." Sam swallowed hard, making a pointless motion with his hand. "...Ya know...take him."

Bobby scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "That's a hell of a theory."

Sam bobbed his head once to the side in agreement and paced a few steps away down the hall. "But she's had every chance. Dean's been out of the protection of his room a few times now. What is she waiting for?"

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know, but let's hope she keeps waiting until we figure this out."

"What's to figure out?" Sam spread his arms at his sides, slightly akimbo, palms facing up.

"If you're right about this, Sam. Before you go jumping to conclusions." Bobby said firmly.

"We might not have time for that." Sam shook his head, one hand rubbing at his chin, the other propped on his hip as he paced back and forth. Bobby saw that look in Sam's eyes as they stared down in thought. It was the look he'd seen in John's eyes after Mary died. The look he'd seen in Dean's eyes that night at Cold Oak. It was a look of recklessness and lack of caring about being so. Bobby grabbed Sam's arm and abruptly halted his pacing. Sam looked up, surprised.

"Don't you even think about doing anything stupid." He growled, narrowing his eyes up at Sam. Sam's gaze dropped from his and darted about, looking at anything but Bobby. Gently, Sam eased Bobby's grip off his arm and met his gaze. His adam's apple worked silently as he swallowed hard.

"I just uh...I'm gonna go do a little research. Just...go back to Herschfeld, keep an eye on Dean until I get back." Sam looked at Bobby for a minute and when the older man said nothing, he turned and walked away.

He didn't need to wait to see if he was right, and he didn't have time either. Dean didn't have time. Sam _knew_ he was right. He didn't have to explain his reasons to anyone. All he knew was that Dean needed help and Sam had a good idea of how he could give that to him.

_...To Be Continued..._

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_Did any of you come to a similar conclusion as Sam did? Is our boy right? Find out next time; ) _

_Next chapter will be posted tomorrow night. Bring your EMO turtles._

_Reviews are like randomass trucker hats...and I'm Bobby._

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes**

_So we're coming to the final chapters of this story. There will be 13 in all and they'll all be posted by at August 31st (cause then it's off to Mexico then Australia EEEE!!!: D)_

_Enjoy the EMO-I mean...the chapter....: )_

Oo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oO

_"I believe in you. I'll give up everything just to find you. I have to be with you. To live, to breathe."_

_-Evanescence "Taking Over Me"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 9**

A part of Sam had known since he'd first suspected that something was wrong, it had known what was going on and what needed to be done. But another part of him—the part that still held faith that there was something more to the world than just evil—had said _"Just wait, just a little longer."_ Sam had stopped listening to the second voice the moment he turned away from Bobby in Radiology.

A few hours previously, he'd gotten a call from Bobby informing him that Dean's MRI and CT scan had come back clean. Sam had expected as much, and he'd simply hung up the phone without answering Bobby's question as to where he was at the moment. He didn't want Bobby to find him, see what he was doing, and try to stop him. This needed to be done. It was the only way Dean was going to get help.

Sam was familiar with the items on the list he'd found online, in-fact everything he needed was already in the trunk of the Impala. Astrological reports he looked up showed that the time of the lunar cycle was right and the necessary cover of night was quickly falling. Sam was almost set. All he needed to do was talk to Bobby, convince him to do exactly what he asked, and get away scot-free. Simple.

Sam closed his Mac laptop, still staring at the now-empty space that the screen had just occupied. He took in a steadying breath and let it out in a controlled exhale. He could do this. He _had _to. There was no other choice. He'd taken fully into account the risks and had shrugged them off with the confidence that if it brought Dean back to him, it would be worth it.

Sam stood, gathered the laptop and returned it to the leather bag lying on the tabletop. He hoisted the strap over his shoulder and started back toward his brother's room. He kept his eyes down as he moved through the hospital, deep in thought. His face was calm, his expression flat, creating a façade that belied the swirl of emotions whirling around his head and the wild beating of his heart. He lifted his gaze finally to find he had already walked from the visitor's waiting-room on the first floor, gotten on and off the elevator, and was standing in front of Dean's room. Sam blinked out of his stuporous haze and pushed his palm flat against the door, opening it.

Bobby sat next to Dean's bed. He was reclined back in the too-angular chair, one arm resting across his stomach to create a perch for the other elbow. His palm covered his mouth and supported his head as he gazed ahead at nothing in particular. Sam closed the door gently, but the click of the latch sliding into place caused Bobby to turn his head. The older hunter lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgment of Sam's presence and he stood to approach him.

"Thought you'd dropped off the planet for awhile there." Bobby's voice was quiet and its roughness betrayed his attempt at light-heartedness. The soft smile crinkling his eyes quickly faded as he saw Sam's grim expression. "Something wrong?"

Sam slowly removed the leather bag from his shoulder and turned to place it on the small table against the wall behind him. He kept his back turned from Bobby for a moment as he collected himself and searched for the right words to say, for how he could make Bobby understand. Sam's hand drifted to his right jacket pocket and his fingers felt the outline of the objects hidden within the fabric. He moved his hand into the pocket and closed around the jagged metal of the keys to the Impala, the cool smoothness of the ring, and the sharp horns of the egyptian amulet. He let the feel of the items center him, very aware that he was currently holding a large portion of Dean's world in the palm of his hand. Sam took a deep breath and turned to Bobby. He locked his eyes on the icy-blue gaze staring curiously back at him and lowered his head slightly, pulling in Bobby's attention.

"I know what all this has been like for you, Bobby." Sam started quietly. "Since the moment you found Dean and me, you've been climbing the walls, desperate to help."

Sam paused and waited for Bobby to nod, to signal that what he said was true, before continuing. "Well now there's something I'd like you to do."

Bobby shifted his weight from foot to foot and squared his shoulders a little as if to prepare for any responsibility Sam might place on them.

"I'm leaving. I'm not sure...how long I'll be gone, but I need you to stay here and look after Dean. Don't leave his side, make sure _nothing _happens to him. I want you to promise that you will not try to follow me and I need you to do all this with no questions asked, do you understand?"

Bobby furrowed his eyebrows minutely. Something in Sam's flat tone made him very uneasy and reluctant to agree to anything without getting a full explanation.

"Sam-"

"Can you do this for me, Bobby? Yes or no?"

With all his heart Bobby wanted to say "no", because he didn't want to agree to something he might regret later, but he knew that even if he refused, it would not stop Sam from whatever it was he was planning to do. At least giving him his word and letting him know that Dean would be taken care of might lock in the confidence Sam needed to go through with it. And win.

"Bobby." Sam pressed. Small tremors skittered over him with each heavy breath he took and his jaw was set so tightly that Bobby feared his teeth might break from the stress. He nodded finally.

"Alright." Bobby said quietly.

Sam visibly relaxed and he nodded. It was Bobby's turn to be stubborn now.

"But don't you do anything stupid."

"I won't."

"That ain't the first time I've heard that from one of you boys."

Sam breathed out a laugh. When Bobby's expression remained serious, Sam's dimples retreated and he cleared his throat.

"I'll be careful." The choice of words disturbed Bobby and he kept an accusing gaze pinned to the young man. It was no secret that the Winchester men would do anything to protect and save each other, _had _done anything to protect and save each other, and Bobby feared the youngest was about to follow in his father's and brother's reckless footsteps.

"Where are you going and when?" Bobby asked.

Sam dropped his head, looking at his feet. His right arm stood akimbo and flapped lightly against his side. "I don't know yet. And right after uh...In a little bit."

"Sam-"

"Can I just have a few minutes? Please?" Sam interrupted breathily. His eyes flicked past Bobby to Dean then back again. "...Alone?"

Bobby straightened up to his full height, still not tall enough to surpass Sam but a little more intimidating nonetheless. "Depends on what you plan on saying."

Sam sighed, his eyes closing, and he lowered his head. "Bobby-"

In an instant Bobby had snatched up the jacket on Sam's shoulder and he shook him, pulling Sam's shocked, wide eyes back up.

"You listen to me, boy. I know what you plan on doing and I don't like it." Bobby spoke in a low, dangerous voice, the tone harsh. He pulled Sam closer when the younger man opened his mouth to speak, successfully silencing him before he could utter a sound.

"I've lost _everything _I've ever had. I've lost my wife, my family. Took me _years _to pull my life back together. I've watched my friends die and I've seen this world slowly tear itself apart. I _know _how it is. I know what it's like to have nothing left to lose and to be willing to give up _anything _for someone, but I will _not _stand idly by while you go off and get yourself killed!"

Sam's eyes shone bright in the weak light of the room and his chin trembled slightly. Bobby loosened his grip on Sam's shirt front a little and spoke in a less threatening tone.

"I see the same look in your eyes that I saw in your brother's the night you died."

Sam averted his gaze as if to hide the truth behind Bobby's words.

"Dean wouldn't want you to do this, Sam. If he were awake he'd tell you that himself."

"But he's not, Bobby." Sam's voice shook. "And he won't. He's not gonna get better unless I do something about it. I know it. I can feel it."

"Define 'something'." Bobby shot back, his eyes narrowing.

Sam looked down a second longer. His mouth shakily turned up into a sad smile and he looked up at Bobby. "This your version of not asking questions?"

Bobby shook his head disapprovingly and released Sam, backing off. Sam took advantage of the liberty to move again and walked over to stand by Dean. He rested a hand near his brother's shoulder, fingertips lightly brushing the fabric of the thin white t-shirt that had been put on Dean at some point in his absence. He looked down at Dean, his eyes focused on his face as if he were trying to communicate words without speaking.

"Let me go with you." Bobby offered firmly, the tone barely hiding a hint of desperation.

"No." Sam replied flatly. He looked up at Bobby and shook his head for emphasis. "No. I need you to stay and make sure nothing happens to him."

"And who's gonna be making sure nothing happens to _you_?" Bobby asked bitterly.

Sam sighed. "I've been taken care of and watched after my entire life. It's time for me to return the favor."

Bobby thumped the wall with his fist and turned away, shaking his head.

"You don't approve. I get it, Bobby. But there's nothing you can say to change my mind."

"Stubborn ass you are." Bobby grumbled.

Sam shrugged, not denying Bobby's assessment. Apparently the older man had nothing more to say, and sensed that Sam had nothing more to say to him, because Bobby, fulfilling Sam's earlier request, walked over to the door, opened it, and left him alone.

The door slammed behind him, causing Sam to do little more than blink at the loud sound. The room grew quiet and he was left with only the familiar sound of the heart monitor and, if he listened hard enough, the calming sound of Dean's breathing. Sam slid the chair as close to the bed as possible and sat down. He leaned forward on the bed, placing his forearms one on top of the other, and rested against them. His eyes meandered hesitantly up to look at Dean's face and he blew out a breath.

"Hey." Sam nearly whispered. "I think I finally understand what's going on here...with you. I'm sorry it took me this long to figure it out, but I have a plan to fix it. I'm not saying it will work, but at this point 'maybe' is good enough for me. I know you wouldn't want me to go through with it, but uh...but, hey that didn't stop_ you_, right?" Sam felt the pressure build behind his eyes as he laughed sadly.

"That's why I don't want you to be mad if...all doesn't go like I plan. You've been in my position before and you know what it's like, so you wouldn't really have the right to be mad at me."

Sam recalled the gripping anger he'd felt after learning what Dean had done to bring him back. "Actually you'd have every right to be mad, but at least you could understand what I'm trying to do here."

Sam quickly brushed at a runaway tear and sniffed noisily. "I'm scared, man. I really am. But...I'm more scared of what could happen if I just sat here and did nothing...I'm terrified of what could happen to you, Dean. And I ca-..."

_"I can't do this without you. I can't go on. I can't live, breathe, care, feel without you." _The thousands of possible endings to that sentence swarmed Sam's mind, choking his voice.

"If you're not here...I just _can't_, Dean. Not after everything."

Sam hung his head to wipe away more tears running down his face. He felt the warmth of Dean's arm lying just in front of his own and he leaned forward a little to close the small distance. The touch was comforting and painful at the same time. Comforting: if he succeeded, saved his brother, and returned to his side. Painful: if any alternative scenario concluded his attempts.

From out of no where, a memory flicked to the front of Sam's awareness and its relevance forced more tears from his eyes. He sniffed again and wiped a hand under his nose. Sam dropped his eyes to stare at his sleeve, the index finger of his right hand picking absently at the cuff of his jacket. "You asked me once if I'd go in after someone who jumped over Niagara falls. I never answered you, but...I wouldn't have been willing to." Sam raised watery, dark-circled eyes to look at his brother.

"That was before you decided to take the plunge yourself, Dean."

Sam smiled sadly and just sat silently for a few minutes, listening to Dean's breathing, feeling him warm against his own arm, just taking in as much of his brother's presence as he could. Sam caught sight of the reading on his watch and frowned. "I have to get going."

He stood slowly as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "Oh." Sam breathed out, remembering. He dug in his pocket and pulled out Dean's necklace. "Here."

He untied the shorter piece of string from the longer where it had been cut off of Dean and tossed it aside. Sam then leaned over and gently eased the slightly-shorter, black string around Dean's neck. He retied the knot and adjusted the necklace so the gold amulet rested against Dean's chest. Sam smiled, not helping but notice the difference it made.

"You didn't look right without it, man. Might as well've been naked."

Sam chuckled lightly but the weight of the situation quickly pulled down his smile and the end of the laugh was punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. He reached out a hand and placed it gently on top of Dean's head, suddenly frightened again and in need of the contact. "Wait for me, alright? Please just hold on until I can make this right."

Sam gently rubbed his thumb over Dean's relaxed, normally emotion-lined forehead. Sam still couldn't get used to how young and vulnerable he looked. The annoyingly familiar tight feeling returned to Sam's throat and he had to work to swallow past it as a world of What Ifs crushed in upon him. "Dean, if something...happens..."

Sam drew in a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to say so much, frustrated by the thought that Dean might not even be able to hear any of it. Either way, it needed to be said.

"You've always been right there. Even when I tried to push you away, you always knew it wasn't what I really needed. You've been my best friend, my guardian, the guy I always looked up to and wanted to be..." Sam laughed, the soft exhale sounding more like a sob. "...the biggest pain in my ass."

His shaky smile faded. "But you still never stopped being my brother, Dean...you have no idea how much that's meant to me. I know you'd probably rather shoot yourself in the foot than have a chick flick moment but..." Sam paused, suddenly at a loss for words. His shoulders slumped a little and he sighed. He shouldn't have to explain why he needed to tell his own brother how much he meant to him, and Sam realized how royally screwed it was that his family never really let their guard down or showed true emotion or affection unless one of them was dying. But he didn't really care how much Dean might make fun of him for it, Sam would never forgive himself if something went wrong and he was never able to say all the things he wanted to.

"I don't..._exist_ without you, Dean. I've seen what it's like to live without you and uh...I'm just not there. I _need _you. That's all. And uh..." Nothing else came to mind. That was really all it ever came down to and Sam couldn't think of anything else that mattered more at the moment. He sighed out a long, heavy breath and let his eyes close at the sudden weariness he felt.

"...That's all." It was a nearly inaudible whisper.

Sam knew it wasn't much. He hadn't prepared a long, heartfelt speech, but he knew it was all Dean ever needed to hear. And it was all _he_ really neededDean to hear. Sam couldn't seem to bring himself to say the three words he actually wanted, more than anything, to say. They seemed too.._final _to him. Perhaps if they both made it out of this alive he could find the strength to say it, but for now he'd have to hope that the words he did say got across the same message and Sam _prayed _that somehow Dean could hear them. He reluctantly let his hand fall away from Dean and, with one last look at his brother's seemingly peaceful expression, turned and walked away. _"Hold on. Please, Dean. I can fix this." _

_...To Be Continued..._

Oo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oO

_Alriiiight, I originally wrote this chapter a little more...Wincesty haha. My "editor" even confirmed it, so since we both were not so sure about it, I changed it up to be at least a_ little _more manly. We all know Sammy loves Dean more than anything and vise versa. No real reason to say it out loud (No matter how much we all want them to) We know it. They know it. We'll have to leave it at that...unless Kripke decides otherwise. _

_And don't make fun of me for the Evanescence songs; they always remind me of the boys:P_

_Ok, I'm re-he-EALLY am excited about the next chapter. I hope you all will like it. It should be up by tomorrow: )_

_Reviews are like sleep and I'm-Zzzzzzzzzzz._

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes**

_HUUUUUGE thanks to darling __**Glittergoddess **__for helping me with the research for this chapter. This wouldn't have been fun to write if I hadn't had the information she found for me -Huggles!- ; )_

_Ok here it is...the climax of the story. I REALLY like this chapter and I REALLY enjoyed writing it. I hope all of you find the same entertainment in it._

Oo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oO

_"Let's take a breath, jump over the side. Oh, that's right. You know that darkness always turns into light."_

_-Colplay "What If"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 10**

Bobby hadn't said much when Sam came out of Dean's room. He had simply nodded at Sam's repeated plea to watch over Dean, told him to be careful, and Sam had left when the silence stretched out to an awkward length. Sam's demeanor had changed abruptly upon leaving Dean's room. He stood taller, shoulders squared, his well-built body tense. His jaw was set and his expression one of determination. Every feeling other than stubbornness, determination, and confidence was locked away in Sam's mind. He didn't need any other emotions distracting him, clouding his mind.

It was freshly dark by the time Sam emerged from the hospital and headed towards the Impala. The moon was a scant grin in the fading sky. Zero cloud cover obstructed the deep blue backdrop specked with stars bright enough to make up for the brilliance that the moon lacked that night. Sam walked the annoyingly far distance to the Impala. His right hand was hidden in his jacket pocket, fingers gripping the keys so tightly that the jagged metal bit into the soft flesh of his palm. He had started putting tabs on a handful of memories as his walked. He didn't want to have to search for the right ones when the time came.

A flash of Dean zipped by in particular vividness. _Body pinned, features contorted with pain, blood dripping_. Sam clenched his eyes shut and shook his head sharply. _"Not yet." _He reached the Impala and quickly unlocked the door. Upon sliding behind the wheel, Sam started the car and threw it into reverse, all the while finding and saving memories that he thought would serve as useful. He expertly maneuvered the Impala from its space and left the hospital parking lot with a squeal of tires.

He hadn't bothered to do any research on where would be a good location. Sam figured that any place fitting would not be listed as having an address. Instead, he just drove; he'd know the right place once he saw it. Sam's right hand drifted to the left inner pocket of his jacket. He'd almost forgotten about Ruby's knife. He wondered briefly if using it would save him some danger and still get the job done, but after a moment he released the hilt of the knife and clenched his jaw defiantly. _"No."_ The demon had fled the last time he'd tried to use it. It was time to change tactics.

The tall buildings of the city dwindled to the suburbs, to the occasional farm-house, then finally to just the flat, open, nothingness of southern Indiana. Sam passed by a couple of barns that held promise, but marked them off as they all appeared to belong to a house across the field from them. He drove a few more miles and caught sight of another possible place. Sam slowed the car to a crawl and leaned over to look out the passenger side window. A broken down barn sat a few hundred feet off the road against a backdrop of thick trees. No other houses were situated on the land and Sam finally concluded that it would do. He spotted a lead-off from the road a little ways up and turned onto an overgrown path leading to the barn.

Sam leaned over the steering wheel to look out the front window at the barn as the Impala rumbled down the long-unused path. He shifted the car into park once he got close to the building and leaned against both arms on the wheel. Taking a deep breath, Sam held it for a moment, allowing the comforting chatter of the Impala's resting engine to center him. He fell back in the seat as he exhaled and turned the key in the ignition, the sudden absence of the engine's noise throwing him into complete silence.

Sam stared pensively ahead at no one thing in particular, his mouth turned down in a slight frown. He fleetingly wished that he had accepted Bobby's help and allowed him to come along, but Sam dismissed the regret with the assurance that Dean would be kept safe and the reminder that he needed to do this alone. He didn't want anyone else caught in the middle of this, especially since he had no idea what might happen...that thought _terrified_ Sam. If he failed, Dean would die, go to Hell, and Sam would literally not be able to live with that. If he succeeded, Dean's contract would be broken and he would live...but that was the scenario in which Sam wasn't sure what would happen to himself. The thought made his carefully prepared state of mind slip a little. Sam slammed his hands against the steering wheel, gripping it in a white knuckled grasp as if to hold himself back from slipping farther.

Was it fair to save Dean only to possibly make him face his worst nightmare? Sam shook his head. Dean would have to deal with things too twisted for even his_ worst _nightmares if Sam did nothing. He had to do this. He needed his brother back. _Needed. _There was nothing else.

Sam felt desperation grip him, choking him as it constricted his throat. It forced tears to pool in his eyes and he hung his head, biting his lip hard to hold it all back. A sob forced a quick burst of air through Sam's nose and he felt himself slip more. He had to pull himself together. He couldn't fight like this. Couldn't win, couldn't save Dean if he didn't get a grip. _"Block out the background noise of your mind, focus, breathe, then act." _The sound of his brother's voice echoing through his memory calmed Sam. He braced his arms straight against the wheel, dropping his head to his chest. He took in a deep breath, let his eyes slip closed, then relaxed his arms as he let it out slowly.

Sam wasn't sure how the urge came to him, but he realized that now, more than ever, he needed to ask for help. He rested his arms on top of the wheel and leaned forward again. Looking up at the shimmeirng night sky through the windshield, he breathed a deep inhale and began.

"I know you're probably against almost everything our job involves. I know you wouldn't approve of what I'm doing...or what Dean did, but...I could really use some help right now. Just...please just help Dean. I don't really care about anything else, just please _please _let him be okay."

Sam dropped his head and rested his forehead against his arms. "Help me be able to save him." He whispered.

It wasn't the first time Sam had prayed, pleaded, for God's help. It was true what he'd told Dean back in Rhode Island, he prayed everyday. Sam had started soon after visiting his mother's grave the previous year, and only prayed harder after Dean made his Crossroads deal. He'd stopped for a little while, becoming angry that his cries for help had seemingly gone unnoticed and he was no closer to finding a way to save Dean. But he'd started with renewed fervor after Dean finally admitted that he was scared, that he didn't want to die or go to Hell. Sam had nothing else to rely on but faith at the moment; it was all he could do to show a little of it. And it did seem to help. He felt a little calmer. A little more hopeful and he felt his previous confidence chase away the fear that had threatened to pull him under.

Sam sat back, running his hands down over the Impala's steering wheel. He spoke to the leather interior and, by proxy, his brother.

"We've got work to do." The phrase had become a sort of motivator for Sam over the past few years. The first time, he had said it. The second time Dean had said it, but on both occasions Sam had found in the words the strength and motivation he needed to carry on. The third time was no exception.

With hope freshly renewed, Sam got out of the car and moved to the trunk. Popping it open, he lifted the lid to the tire well and began to rummage. He tossed aside the bag of weapon-cleaning supplies and moved a strategically placed gallon of gasoline to reveal an army-green duffle. Sam was relieved that it was still there. He feared that Dean or Bobby may have found it at one point, taken a peek at its contents, and hidden it from him. Sam scooped up the handles and swung the bag onto his shoulder. It had everything he needed, but he grabbed a shotgun just for good measure and a flashlight. He knew the gun wouldn't do much good, but he felt more confident with it in his hand. He closed the trunk with the butt of the gun and nimbly flipped the flashlight in his other hand until his thumb could click the "on" button.

A strong beam of light cut a path through the darkness to the barn door and Sam walked forward. Crickets chirped and frogs from a pond somewhere in the distance croaked animatedly. With the clear night sky, the curious moon, and the melody of nature it would have been a peaceful night to enjoy if Sam were not completely focused on the task at hand. He reached the barn and nudged the door with his booted foot. It creaked a little on its one remaining hinge that held at the bottom right corner, but the the door caught stubbornly in the earth. Sam pushed against it with his shoulder and heaved until the door was freed from the ground, leaving him to fall against the lost support and stumble awkwardly inside. Sam quickly steadied himself and shined the flashlight about to explore his new surroundings.

The barn was most definitely abandoned. Cobwebs stretched between beams and a few clumps of hay dangled over the side of the loft. An old-fashioned looking wagon with only one of its wheels sat lop-sidedly to Sam's far left. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and the particles that Sam had disturbed upon entry danced through the slice of light. Sam swept his shoe through the rotted hay to reveal the ground beneath it. Dirt. Chalk wouldn't do much there. He turned the light up to the loft. Wood. _"That'll work." _Sam searched for a ladder leading to the loft and found one to his right. He moved towards it, all the while sweeping the flashlight over the loft to try and gauge its stability. It didn't look too rotted. Definitely stable enough to hold him.

He traded the flashlight to his left hand, easily making room for both it and the shotgun in his long fingers, and grasped the first wrung of the ladder. He put a foot up, bouncing lightly to see if it would break. Deciding that it would hold, Sam began to climb. He made it to the top and swung around to stand on the loft. He gave the wide-open space a once over with the flashlight and found literally nothing other than dust, cobwebs, and some abandoned hay. The boards creaked ominously as Sam walked to the center of the loft where a square of weak moonlight came through a single, open window.

He got down on one knee and put down the green duffle next to him. He swiped his hand over the boards, removing hay from a wide area in front of him and placed the flashlight, beam up, on the floor. That, mixed with the meagre light the moon offered, gave enough illumination for Sam to see fairly well and he got straight to work.

He unzipped the bag to reveal its contents. A thick cylinder of chalk appeared to glow in the dim light and Sam removed it first. He drew a large circle on the floor in front of him. Inside that, he drew a slightly smaller circle and within that an inverted pentagram.

The chalk bumped where the boards met, but managed to leave a clean, white line in its wake. Starting with the bottom point of the inverted pentagram and working clockwise, Sam drew Hebrew letters representing "V", "N", "T", "Y", and "U." The "U" successfully completed the sigil that Sam had found online and memorized. He reviewed his work and threw the chalk back in the bag. Five, half-melted candles were removed from the bag next and Sam breathed out a relieved sigh when there were just enough. He pulled out a lighter and lit the candles, placing one next to each Hebrew letter drawn at the points of the pentagram. The flames danced about, sending eerie shadows about the loft and across Sam's face. _"Almost done." _He placed a carved, stone bowl in the center of the sigil and poured acacia petals from a leather pouch into the basin. Sam's heart had increased its beating with each step of the ritual and it was now thumping wildly against the walls of his chest.

He took a pack of matches from the bag, set it next to him, and reached back in for a knife. Sam's fingers brushed over a few items, but did not locate the knife he needed. He peered into the bag and rummaged around for a few moments. Panic started to beep a red light in Sam's head. The knife wasn't there. He patted his pants pockets, not finding the pocket-knife he couldn't remember if he had or not, and stopped as his hand pressed Ruby's knife against his chest. It seemed...odd somehow to use that particular knife, but it would work and Sam really had no other choice. He removed the blade from the inner pocket. Candle-light shimmered over the sharp edge and Sam puffed out a quick exhale. He placed the blade against the open palm of his left hand and—lip twitching in a snarl of pain—dragged it swiftly over the tender flesh. He grunted quietly and closed his fingers over the jagged welling of deep red blood. He wiped the blade clean on the thigh of his jeans and stored it back to its place in his jacket.

Sam walked on his knees a few steps closer to the stone bowl in the center of the sigil. He raised his fist over the bowl and opened his fingers, allowing only a single drop of blood to fall before turning his palm face up again.

"Juvenis servo haud insoms insontis."

Sam's voice pitched low as the latin words rolled smooth over his tongue. He allowed a second drop to bleed into the bed of acacia petals.

"Insons insontis teneo haud libido."

A third, and final, drop of blood landed noiselessly by the first two.

"Libido ingredior ut unus per vox."

The last of the three Latin citations finished the first part of the ritual. Sam pulled a blue bandana from the duffle and wrapped his sliced hand with it. His heart pounded blood through his ears. It was time for the final step.

"Ad contrigendum, ad ligandum eos pariter et solvendum, et ad congregantum eos coram me."

Sam had picked up the matchbook as he recited the last few words and after he had said them all, he struck a match, let it flame to life, then dropped it amongst the contents of the stone bowl. Sparks shot up in a momentarily brilliance of light that filled the loft before dying down and disappearing completely. Sam's fists and jaw clenched simultaneously as he stood and looked carefully around the room. The dim light from the candles flickered on the walls and cast various parts of the loft into complete shadow. The crickets and frogs outside continued to chatter gayly and Sam remained alone in the barn. He walked to the edge of the loft and glanced over the edge. Nothing and no one.

"Come on, come on, come on." Sam whispered impatiently. He started towards the window to look out when the crickets and frogs abruptly silenced. Sam's muscles immediately tensed and he stood perfectly still. His ears pricked at the complete silence and he had to work hard to filter out the sound of his heart beating in his ears. A floorboard creaked somewhere behind him and Sam turned coolly towards the sound. A young woman, no more than Sam's age, stood on the last wrung of the ladder.

"Oh boo. These bodies are so inconvenient when it comes to sneaking around."

Sam felt hate burn hot in his chest as he faced the girl. The young woman stepped onto the loft and moved into the light, shoulders shrugged up a little and hands clasped before her in a coy manner. Sam saw the girl had dark brown—almost black—hair that fell in tousled waves around her shoulders. Her skin was a deep shade of natural tan and her big, dark eyes looked at Sam with a hint of amusement. The girl's ample lips curved up in a shy smile.

"Sam." She drew out the name over a few seconds. "I didn't expect to be seeing you again so soon." The dark eyes flickered milky white a few times before returning to their natural color. "I _do_ enjoy surprises." She bit her bottom lip playfully, eyes scanning appreciatively over Sam's body.

Sam felt the cut on his hand complain as his fist wrapped tightly around the bandage in a vice-like grip. Lillith grinned the girl's dazzling smile and put her hands behind her back.

"Would you like to meet my pets?" Sam just glared at her and she shrugged, taking it as a yes. "Good."

Two wolves appeared out of the shadows behind the girl. Large eyes glowed like small, crystallized moons in the heads of the creatures as they slunk into the light and sat, one on either side, of their mistress, their shoulders the same height as the girl's hips. Sam took a few steps forward, rage over the demon's casual mannerisms causing him to shake gently. The demon cooed over the wolves then straightened back up and looked at Sam. She placed a hand on the head of the wild dog sitting to her left.

"This is Hecatha." She put her other hand on the wolf to her right. "And this is Oberos. Darlings, say hello to Sam."

Both wolves growled menacingly in their throats, their hackles rising in sharp-looking tufts. Lillith tutted the creatures. "Be nice."

Her eyes lifted to Sam, who now stood, glaring disgustedly, just seven feet away. "You're being very rude, Sam. All this quiet business? After all, you did call me-"

"Let him go." Sam ground out through clenched teeth, shoulders shaking with each breath as he resisted the urge to close the distance and wrap his hands around the throat of the girl, the only thing stopping him being that he knew the poor girl was just a demon's puppet. Lillith sighed as if bored.

"Ah yes. _Dean._ I'd almost forgotten. Is he dead yet?"

Sam all but growled in rage. "You know he's not. Let. him. go. now."

The girl swallowed and shrugged innocently. "What makes you think I-"

"I don't think. I know. You've trapped him. He didn't just die like you'd planned and you trapped him so he couldn't recover or defend himself."

Sam's words tumbled smooth and steady on a voice of flat confidence. The girl clapped her hands slowly when Sam finished.

"Boy. You _are _a smarty. And I'd heard so many disappointing rumors about the boy who would be king, I was starting to think they were all true."

Sam scowled at the way the demon avoided the subject, but refused to play along with the little game it seemed to find so fun.

"I know you hold his contract and you're going to break it."

"Dean's probably already dead, Sammy-boy. He's probably burning as we speak."

Sam lunged forward at the demon. The girl's eyes widened minutely and Sam could have sworn he saw the demon's pure, raw fear flicker across her expression before something slammed into him. Sam crashed to the ground, a snarling mess of fur on top of him. He pushed at the wolf in attempts to get it off of him, but it wouldn't budge. The wolf snapped viciously, held at bay only by Sam's arms that kept its powerful jaws from closing on any part of him. Sam grunted and coughed as the crushing weight of the beast on his chest started to impair his ability to breathe. His hand fumbled, still desperately holding back the demonic animal. His hold slipped suddenly and the wolf lunged at his throat. The jaws closed over the exposed, tender flesh. Sam groaned as he felt the sharp teeth start to bite in and he thrust his arm upward.

The wolf pulled away from Sam's throat with an other-worldy, high pitched squeal and scrambled to get away from him. Sam fisted the wolf's scruff with one hand and pulled Ruby's knife from its stomach. The animal's pained cries continued and Sam jammed the knife into the wolf's throat, abruptly silencing it as orange crackles of lightning flickered and died away in the open wound. He heaved the wolf's inert body off of himself and coughed, quickly reaching a hand up to his throat. Three punctures on the right, four on the left. All shallow and not bleeding too badly.

"No!" The demon shrieked as the wolf's body crumbled into a pile of black ash. Sam pulled himself away with one arm, the other still holding his neck, as the girl ran over and knelt in the remains of her loyal companion. The remaining wolf whimpered forlornly and pawed at the ash. The girl's head shot up, the eyes glowing white with the demon within.

"You!" Lillith snarled. She leapt to her feet and ran at Sam. Sam didn't have the time to react and before he knew it, the girl's hand was wrapped around his throat and he was on his feet. He gripped the dainty wrist made impossibly strong by demonic forces as the girl growled and slammed him into a support beam, the force splintering it in half. Sam let out an abbreviated cry as pain exploded through his back. The grip on his throat tightened, choking off air. Sam's gasped, clawing more desperately at the hand as the angry white eyes continued to glare at him. His vision was just starting to blacken and fade when he was released. Sam crumbled to his knees, gasping air back to his lungs. He barely had time to gulp in another breath before he felt his body stiffen against his will. _"Damnit." _It was the all too familiar feeling of being held immobile by the power of a demon. Except, unlike before, Sam could not even move his head.

Panic flared as he realized he could not see the demon-possessed girl. The forced tilt of his head allowed him only to see the ground three feet in front of him and anywhere in the proximity that his eyes could move. Sam pulled in shaky breaths, panic denying sufficient oxygen to his already starved lungs.

"You stupid, pathetic _human_!"

The voice hissed from somewhere behind him. Sam's eyes flicked back and forth rapidly. He caught sight of the knife out of the corner or his eye and he struggled to free himself to get to it. He immediately ceased his attempts when he saw a delicate hand pick it up.

"Oberos had been with me for centuries. Been with _Hecatha_ all his life."

The tip of the knife came into view first. Its jagged edge brushing close to Sam's eye before the girl's face appeared, fury making the milky eyes crackle with speckled explosions of silver. She had to bend down to look into Sam's face. She teased the knife closer to Sam's eye, nearly touching the surface. Sam held back a flinch and kept his gaze trained on the girl's bare feet.

"_Centuries_...and you...KILLED HIM!" The demon's voice took on a chilling baritone quality as it screamed furiously.

Sam decided it was best if he closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at the blade threatening his vision; he felt sick when his eyelashes brushed the tip.

"You killed him." He heard her say. "With...this...knife."

Sam had time to register the quick intake of breath before blinding pain shot through the upper, right side of his chest, just under the collar bone. A scream tore from his throat despite his best efforts to stop it. The knife twisted once, twice, making him groan and feel light-headed with pain before it was ripped violently from his flesh. Sam felt the hold on him lift and he fell forward onto his hands. He cried out when pain shot through his right shoulder and he fell unceremoniously onto his left, letting it support him as he gripped his left hand over the wound. Warmth gushed through his fingers and he coughed a few times when the pain stilted his breathing.

"You disgusting humans are so weak. Ironic how a piece of metal had more effect on you than my power. To think if only I had used it before...you would be dead, your brother would be dead, and neither of you would be my problem anymore. I guess your kind creates it own torture devices. Since my first attempt to kill you failed, I'll have to try it your way."

Sam struggled to push himself up, but his efforts where abruptly stopped when he felt a foot connect solidly with his stomach. Pain lanced through him and he rolled onto his back, gasping for air.

"Your brother is going to fry, Sam. When I finally break him..." Sam clenched his teeth in repulsion as a hand gripped his jaw and forced him to look up at the pale eyes. "...and he _will _break, I'm making sure of that." The hand released his face, violently forcing his head back. "He'll give up and there's only one place he can go. I'll make sure he cries, begs, calls for you until he can't even whimper any more."

Sam felt a wave of hate as the demon's high-pitched maniacal laugh echoed loudly through his ears.

"I rather enjoy your kind's way. It is _so _much more fun."

The girl pressed her heel into the wound she had just inflicted on Sam's shoulder. A scream ground out of Sam's throat. Reality wavered dangerously at the edges of his vision. He heard the laugh again, a tingly sound laced with obvious delight. He felt himself slipping but he gritted his teeth and pushed back the call of unconsciousness. _"Okay. Now." _Sam concentrated past the pain, reaching for a stored memories. He blocked out the demon's taunts, searching his mind for the images he had before tried to make himself forget.

_Dean, staring blankly at the ceiling, blood running from a bullet hole in his forehead._

"It's your fault. Your brother damned himself to save you. You, you, _you_! And he's going to be the one to suffer. For eternity he'll suffer."

_Dean, in pain, neck arched against the wall of the cabin, blood pouring from his chest._

"Then when eternity is up. You know what he'll become then, don't you? A demon, _deeeemon_. Just the thing you hate. And I'm going to make sure you see him like that."

_Dean, lungs littered with buckshot, gasping for air, dying in his arms. _

Pain shot through Sam's head like a bolt of lightning, momentarily drowning out everything else. The pain receded a little, and the demon's taunts continued.

"...just sorry she didn't let you make a deal. Bringing you both down would have been the highlight of my career. Oh well, the amount of guilt you'll feel knowing where he is will have to do."

_Dean, body crushed by a reckless driver, covered in blood, eyes staring lifelessly ahead. _

The pain grew in Sam's head, making him grasp at it with shaky fingers. He felt the floorboards of the loft creak. The floor began to shake a little. The pain in his head blocked out that of his shoulder. He felt fingers in his hair and his head was jerked up and back, forcing him to look at the misty white eyes, the venomous smirk.

"You'll be lost. Miserable. I can't wait-..."

The demon stopped short and the girl's smirk faded. The white stare faded back to brown as Sam lifted his eyes, the sea-green depths fiery with pure anger. He heard a quiet whimper and out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the remaining wolf cower and disappear back into the shadows from which it had first appeared. The fingers in Sam's hair loosened a bit and he pounced, locking onto the look of fear that passed over the demon's stolen expression. He concentrated as hard as he could, ignoring the build of pain in his head. He focused on Dean's expression as the hell hound tore at him. His cries of pain, his life bleeding away from him in gruesome spurts. Sam felt the loft shake harder beneath him. He felt the fingers quickly release his hair as if the brown strands had shocked the demon grasping them. He pulled himself onto his knees and managed to shakily push to his feet, swaying a little, right arm held tightly at his side.

The girl's eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape, the demon within obviously terrified.

_Dean's pain-scrunched features, green eyes sparking with fear and agony before fading. _

_"No!" _

_"Yes."_

Sam clenched his eyes shut, vaguely aware over the pain jolting through his head that the entire loft was shaking, the vibration rattling the tin roof above it. He heard a drawn-out scream. His eyes snapped open and he watched helplessly as black smoke pillared out of the girl's mouth. Fleeing, _escaping._

"No!" Sam yelled angrily. This wasn't happening. Not again. He'd failed Dean by letting Lillith get away once, he wasn't letting it happen twice. Time slowed down and paused in an image before Sam, all sound disappearing. The girl's scream had silenced, the black smoke pouring from her mouth frozen in mid-air. Sam only heard his own raspy breathing, heard his heart pounding painfully, felt the pain threatening to tear open his head. Images and voices screamed through his mind in a whirlwind of pain. He gasped and gripped at his head with clawed hands.

_"I don't care what it takes, I'm gonna get you out of this."_

_Dean smiling, laughing. Then suddenly, dying. Claws ripping, killing._

_"You're not gonna go to Hell...I'm not gonna let you."_

_Bleeding, in pain, crying, screaming, dead. _

_"Help me! Saaaam!" _

_Chained, scared, alone, green eyes fading, pleading. _

"Sammy?" A voice whimpered.

Sam's eyes snapped open. Sound returned, the girl's prolonged scream with it, and he watched as the smoke finished its escape from its host's body. It darted upwards towards a skylight in the barn roof and Sam zeroed in on it. A wave snapped through the air towards the demon and the black smoked stopped short, hovering close to the window in the roof. It darted frantically about, seeming to run into an invisible wall any direction it went. Sam clenched his teeth as the pain reached a cadence. He felt something warm trickling over his lips, but he pressed on. _"Lethimgolethimgolethimgo." _

He pushed harder, crying out weakly when he felt like someone had just smashed his skull into dust. The smoke darted frantically in smaller and smaller circles until it appeared to be enclosed in a tiny, invisible sphere no larger than a basketball. Sam felt himself start to fall and he crashed to his knees, catching himself with his left arm as he started to slump forward. _"Kill. Torture. Make her suffer for what she did. Make her regret." _Sam ground his teeth and pushed the hiss of a voice away, focusing back on the smoky sphere floating near the ceiling. He felt himself weakening. He felt his body shutting down. He felt his hold slipping. _"Please no..."_

The smoke darted more freely, making wider circles of motion as Sam's grasp faltered. His face softened as the threat of defeat clenched a cold fist of despair around his heart. The demon was escaping. The thing holding Dean's doom in its hands was getting away. And he was letting it. _"NO!"_ Sam drew in all his remaining strength and concentrated harder on the demon.

A scream of determination and pain ripped through the barn as a massive wave of energy jolted through the air. The broken-down building shook threateningly and the ball of smoke imploded with a loud cracking sound and a quick burst of light. The barn immediately stopped shaking and all went silent and still. Sam blinked wide-eyed at the empty space where the demon had just been. A weak laugh of disbelief wheezed between his still-clenched teeth. He'd done it. He'd actually done it. He'd killed Lillith. It was over...but now the consequences he'd been able to ignore before had time to catch up with him.

A cough overtook Sam and without warning he jolted forward against his arm braced against the floor. He tasted iron and looked down to see blood splattered on the slabs of wood below him. He smelled blood, heard it pumping in his ears, felt it running freely from his nose, down his lips and chin to drop off and add to the puddle on the floor. He coughed again and retched weakly at the nauseating taste coating his throat. His head seared, his shoulder throbbed, and his body felt utterly and completely drained. He felt light and detached from everything.

His arm gave out from under him and he slumped onto his left side. He hurt. Too much and in too many places to pin down each and every location. It was a pain so deep like he'd never felt before. He felt his body trembling as he watched the world go fuzzy and fade around the edges. He didn't want to let go. He wanted to know if Dean was okay. He wanted to drive to the hospital and find his brother awake and alive. He _needed _that. He needed his brother right now. Always.

Sam let his eyes slip closed. He was _so_ tired. It felt so good to be able to rest. He wanted to sleep, to escape the pain, but he couldn't. He had to make sure that Dean was alright. Sam pried his eyes open as a too-loud, jingling sound stabbed at his ears. It stopped and started again, ringing through his head. It took him a moment to realize the sound was his cell phone. Sam's face softened and he felt his entire body relax. Warm tears of sheer joy and relief streamed from his eyes and he smiled weakly. Only a handful of people had his number. Most of them had died, the others would probably never call him again, one of them was the reason he was in lying in the loft of a barn at that very moment, and the other was watching over the previous.

It was Bobby. Sam knew it was Bobby calling. No one else would be trying to reach him at that moment. And he knew Bobby would not call to give bad news. With that thought, Sam let his eyes slide closed again. He could rest now...Dean was safe.

_...To Be Continued..._

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_**Translations:**_

_Juvenis servo haud insoms insontis: Youth retains no innocence._

_Insons insontis teneo haud libido: Innocence knows no lust._

_Libido inredior ut unus per vox: Lust walks as one with power._

_This part of the ritual Sam did is not real. I made up this particular string of Latin phrases up all by me onesy based on lore and how Lillith is described to be the queen of the Lilin; a league of Succubus. I think Supernatural was working more "The Corrupter Of Youth" angle(hence Lillith always possessing children), but I chose to go with this just to change stuff up a bit. Plus there is more lore on the lustier side of Lillith._

_The symbol Sam drew is The Sigil Of Baphomet. It was THE closest thing I could find, because I couldn't find anywhere that Lillith has her very own symbol, but she is represented in this one._

_The wolves, Dire Wolves, mentioned in this chapter are said to be one of the creatures(along with Hell Hounds of course) that serve Lillith. These particular two, Hecatha(female) and Oberos(male) are said to be a mated pair who are her steadfast companions._

_Ok, so yeah...this was fun to write. I hope ya'll enjoyed, and I hope it was satisfying as the big show-down of the story. From the beginning, I thought that Sam moving the cabinet in Nightmare was not put in there for nothing. I always thought it would come back, and seeing as I always thought that only he could save Dean, I just HAD to write out that theory._

_Reviews are like...I don't know, after writing all that I'll have to say that reviews are like me taking a break from typing...right...now._

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes**

_Hehe, I just HAD to make you guys wait two whole days for a continuation of chapter 10: D_

_But now the wait is over! And here is the next chapter. Did it work? Is Dean alive? Is _Sam _alive?_

_Find out right...NOW!_

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_"And I know, I'm dead on the surface. But I am screaming underneath."_

_-Colplay "Amsterdam"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 11**

Bobby was pushed roughly from the room by an influx of doctors and nurses. The door slammed in his face and he cursed the person who hadn't coughed up the little extra cash to put windows on the hospital-room doors. He stared wide-eyed at the yellowish slab of wood separating him from Dean. His heart pounded almost painfully and his chest heaved with shocked breaths. Bobby paced tightly in front of the door a few times and moved back to it after a minute. He turned his head and pressed an ear to the door. He pressed hard, as if trying to melt through the surface and back into the room.

Hollow, muffled voices filtered through the door. Bobby could make out Dr. Herschfeld's raised voice, giving orders.

_"Hold him, damnit!"_

_"He's going to crash."_ A female voice warned.

_"Push ten milligrams of Midazolan."_

A short pause.

_"In."_

The rapid beeping of the heart monitor reigned over the otherwise quiet room for a moment, then Herschfeld spoke again, quieter this time.

_"Simon, hey. Just relax, breathe, that's it, son."_

_"Heart rate is leveling, doctor."_

_"Okay, he's out. Shannon, fix that pull, please. As soon as he's stable I want him down to Radiology for testing. Try to figure out what the hell just happened."_

Bobby almost fell forward as the door opened suddenly and Dr. Herschfeld ran right into him.

"Whoa, excuse me, Mr. Cash."

Bobby shook his head curtly and looked around the doctor into the room. Two nurses were walking out looking slightly frazzled and a third was standing next to the bed pulling on a pair of laytex gloves. Dean lay peacefully again, chest rising and falling a bit faster than before.

"Is he...how is he?" Bobby asked, looking back at Herschfeld.

The doctor blew out a breath and shrugged a little.

"He tore out a few of the stitches on his chest, but other than that...he seems fine, just like he woke up from a bad nightmare. To uh..." Dr. Herschfeld paused as if to regroup. He perched his hands on his hips. "Well, to be honest, Mr. Cash, I was about to write your nephew off as being in a coma. I can't really explain why he chose now to wake up...and so violently for that matter. You said he just woke up and went ballistic?"

Bobby swallowed over a panic-tight throat as the last few minutes finally had time to sink in. Six minutes earlier, he had been sitting at Dean's bedside. Dean had been in the same state since returning from surgery: asleep and completely peaceful. Five minutes earlier Dean's eyes had snapped open and he'd arched up against the bed with a violent gasp. He'd then gone on to try to remove his oxygen mask and had nearly fallen off the bed in attempts to shy away from Bobby's restraining hands. His face had been a mix of either pain—no doubt from the stress he was putting on his injuries—or fear and desperation for a reason Bobby still wasn't sure of. He had tried to calm him down, had assured Dean he was there, but as expected the stubborn young man seemed only interested in where Sam was. He'd only grown more agitated when Bobby had failed to answer him or produce his brother to him. When Bobby had felt himself lose control, he'd hit the nurse call button and had been abruptly pushed from the room. If Dean hadn't been knocked out and had actually been successful in his escape, Bobby had no doubt that at that very moment he would be being chased down the hall by doctors and nurses as he desperately searched for his brother.

Bobby didn't know what the hell had happened, but one thing was certain: Sam had been victorious in his attempt to save Dean. No other explanation existed for his sudden jolt into consciousness. Bobby just prayed with all his heart that Sam had not ended his own life in the process of saving Dean's.

"Mr. Cash?"

Bobby startled at the voice. He blinked and realized Dr. Herschfeld still stood in front of him, waiting for an answer.

"Oh-uh, yeah. He just woke up and...well, panicked. Like you said. He wanted S-..." Bobby froze. _"Oh God, Sam!" _"Damnit, would you excuse me?"

Dr. Herschfeld nodded and smiled softly. Bobby walked quickly towards the closed hospital wing where he and Sam had argued earlier that day. He dug out his cell-phone, selected "Sam" from the contacts list and hit "Send" as he pushed through the double doors of the darkened corridor. Bobby breathed heavily, pacing tightly back and forth as the phone rang. Once...twice...too many times.

"Come on, boy. Pick up your phone!"

Six...seven...eight. _"It's Sam. Leave me a message."_

"Son of a bitch." Bobby hissed, violently flipping shut the phone and immediately opening it again to redial. He smashed the phone against his ear. Each ring spread a feeling of dread in an icy creep through his veins.

Six times...Seven...Bobby held his breath. He heard a loud sniff and heavy breathing that sounded like it was verging hyperventilation.

_"He-...Hello?"_ A shaky female voice filtered through the phone.

"Who is this?" Bobby's voice cracked. He could hear tears in the girl's voice. She sounded young and scared as hell....just like the victims of demonic possession.

"Talk to me, please." Bobby said quietly.

_"I do-...I don't know what happened...I..." _

Bobby had to fight with every fiber of his being to not yell at the girl to tell him where Sam was, if he was ok, and why he wasn't the one answering his phone. But, he knew that scaring an already-frightened person by yelling at them would not get him information any faster.

_"He's...Oh God, there's blood everywhere."_

Bobby's heart plummeted, his felt his knees weaken beneath him.

"Is he...dead?" Bobby didn't quite register that he'd said the words aloud until the girl responded.

_"I don't...know. Oh God, he's bleeding really badly."_

"Try to wake him."

_"Okay...okay..." _The girl's voice was a little farther away when she spoke again. _"Sir...Sir, can you hear me?_"

"His name is Sam." Bobby heard the shake in his voice.

_"Oh...Sam? Sam, wake up."_

An agonizingly long pause, followed by a whimpering sob.

_"He's not responding I-, what do I do?"_

"Check for a pulse. Is he breathing?" Bobby forced himself to remain calm even though the heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and the constant chant of "Please please please please" repeating in his head betrayed him. He heard the sound of something scraping against a surface through the phone.

_"I can't...I don't feel anything."_

Bobby leaned heavily against the wall. He realized tears were running down his face. It was as he'd feared: another Winchester life given for one lost. How was he supposed to tell Dean that? The universe had a sick sense of humor to place that kind of weight on Bobby's shoulders and an even sicker one to make Dean literally survive Hell only to be told his little brother had died pulling him from it.

_"Wait..."_

Bobby raised his head, stomach flipping.

_"There's...I feel a heart beat. It's so weak though."_

Bobby sagged down the wall as relief rushed him, making him feel light-headed. He stopped as he slid to a crouch on the floor.

"Thank God in heaven." He whispered, closing his eyes briefly. "Is he breathing?"

Silence for moment.

_"Barely. Jesus there's so much blood."_

Bobby cringed. He wanted to tell the girl to stop talking about the blood. Sam was alive. That's all that mattered. He didn't need to hear anything that could take that hope away from him.

"Listen, I need you to tell me exactly where you are."

_"I...I don't know. I just...woke up here and the phone-"_

"Find out. I'm begging you." Bobby interrupted what he could tell was about to turn into scared ramblings.

The plea and passing on of responsibility seemed to quell the shake of panic in the girl's voice.

_"Okay, hold on, I have to climb down."_

"Climb down?" Bobby's eyebrows shot up.

_"Yeah. I'm in a loft of a...God what the fuck am I doing in a barn?"_

Bobby rubbed at his balding forehead under his hat. He thumped his head once gently against the wall. A barn. _"Of course." _It was quiet, had lots of space, and was usually situated in a secluded area...miles away from help. Bobby made a mental note to kick Sam's as after this was all over.

_"Okay, I'm down."_

The silence that followed felt crushing on Bobby's ears.

_"I'm outside."_

_"Damnit, girl. Tell me something useful!" _Bobby thought desperately, his hand clenching tightly around the small phone.

_"There's a car-"_

"Hurry!" Bobby half-shouted.

He heard a startled intake of breath over the line.

"I'm sorry. Just hurry, please?" Bobby revised in a softer voice.

_"Okay."_ He heard the soft sound of jogging footsteps falling on soft earth._ "Hold on...I know where I am."_

Bobby sagged with relief.

_"Yeah, I live a little ways down the road. Hell, I pass this barn every day."_

"Where are you?"

_"The west end of Kingston Road."_

"I'll call an ambulance. Remember the car? Turn the brights and flashers on and get back to Sam."

_"Alright."_

Bobby heard the girl's jolted breathing as she ran. He waited until he thought she'd had enough time to turn the lights on, get back to the barn, and climb the loft.

"Is he still alive?"

Shuffling and a pause.

_"Yes. Still breathing and...heart's still beating."_

Bobby closed his eyes and nodded. He stood and, turning, burst through the double doors of the abandoned wing and rushed down the hall.

"What's your name?"

_"Dianna."_ The voice sounded coy.

"Dianna, if you can, try to stop the bleeding and whatever you do, please _please _do not leave his side."

_"Okay. I won't, I promise."_

"Listen for sirens."

Bobby hung up the phone and went into a full-on run to the nurses' station. Hope filled him as a young woman told him an ambulance was en route to the location he'd specified. He asked if he might accompany the paramedics, but the nurse said it wasn't allowed and he'd only be in the way. Bobby wished he could have gone, he _hated _waiting like this, but hope filled him again and made the wait seem a little more bearable. Maybe the universe finally decided it was time to repay the Wincehster brothers for all the crap it had thrown their way over the years. Maybe for once they could catch a break and perhaps even get a happy ending. At least that's what Bobby hoped.

_...To Be Continue..._

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_Ok the deed is done, the desired outcome achieved...but what happens to our boys now?; )_

_Reviews are like food, and I'm me at this very moment. Where's a burger when you need it, damnit?!_

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes**

_This chapter was sort of difficult for me to write. If it makes sense, this is something that cannot be read as easily as I see it in my mind. I write my stories as an episode would play out, and this particular chapter would _visually _make more sense...if that...makes...sense...-clears throat- aaaanywho._

_I hope you all enjoy and let me know whatcha think;)_

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_"Stood on the edge, tied to a noose. But you came along and you cut me loose."_

_-Colplay "Amsterdam"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 12**

He could feel the presence again. Out of nowhere it permeated the darkness and washed over in a blessed feeling of familiarity and comfort. _"Sam." _The relief was so great that he found he lacked the strength to even whisper the name. He had been on edge and not sure how much longer he could take the torture that _that place _could dish out. He'd felt like he was actually sinking into the denseness of the air, like he was slowly drowning in the oblivion that was his surroundings. But then the air felt lighter again and he sensed something beyond the seeming-endlessness of his prison. The punishing lightning had not reached out to attack the hope that blossomed inside of him this time, in-fact the lightning had all but stopped and the thunder was at the most a dull whisper of sound. All he really cared about at the moment though was that he could feel Sam.

The presence had faded just as before, but returned a few times, each comeback stronger than the previous. On the final time, the glare of lightning returned full force and surrounded him with blinding light, pulsing in one, constant flash. The thunder roared so loudly it hurt his ears. He felt determination, fear, love, and unbelievable power all in a sudden, overwhelming rush that stole the air from his lungs...but the feelings were not his own. He felt them as if they were in the very air he breathed. Without being able to explain why or how, he knew the emotions belonged to Sam.

He felt the power increase and his surroundings crackled with energy so great it frightened him. It built, strengthened, buzzed audibly through the air. He felt his brother's presence so strongly as if he were right there with him. His stomach twisted and tears streamed from his eyes when he felt pain, not in a physical way, he could just _feel _it. Could_ feel_ Sam in pain.

"Sammy?" He choked out.

The build of energy stopped suddenly, but he could still feel it like a crushing weight in the air around him. He took the moment to catch his breath, somehow knowing that this was just the calm before the storm...he was right. A second later, a loud thudding sound reverberated, sending a jolt of energy across the air. The atmosphere crackled with visible, white static that pulsed through the air, stretching out across the oblivion of his surroundings. It continued and multiplied, building, growing stronger each second. But then the static started to flicker. It blinked in and out like a light bulb using up its final volts of engery. A sudden wave of despair rippled through the air and made him sag against his bonds. Sam was losing. He didn't know what battle his brother was fighting, but he knew somehow that Sam was losing it. As quickly as it had come though, the despair was gone and determination slammed into him like a wall. The static glowed and fizzled, pulsing energy, stronger than before and only growing stronger.

It was then he heard the scream. A painfully familiar scream that echoed about him, wrapping cold fear around his heart. Inexplicably, he knew that somewhere Sam was in excruciating pain. He wanted to shout, to tell Sam to stop whatever he was doing that was hurting him so much. He ground his teeth and strained for freedom again. He didn't expect it to work, but he didn't care. Sam needed him and he'd be damned if he did nothing to try to help. A crippling pain shot through his head suddenly. He gasped out a choked cry of pain and surprise, his entire body tensing, eyes squeezing shut against the phantom agony. A reverberating wave of energy jarred him and suddenly he felt the sensation of falling...upwards. The pressure building inside his head skull reached a blinding height of pain. He couldn't hold it back any longer. A scream ripped from his throat, providing a chilling harmony to his brother's. He felt the energy press against him with an almost unbearable weight and in a flash of blinding light the pain vanished.

Dean arched up and gasped in a deep, cool breath of air. He felt blessed softness beneath him and he allowed himself to fall heavily back against it. He forced his eyes to open, but everything was too bright and he immediately closed them again. He felt pain in his chest, shoulder, back, leg, but it wasn't the same type of pain like he'd before. It wasn't consuming, crippling. It was almost...bearable. _"What the hell? Where am I? Where _was _I?" _Panic swept over him, making his lungs feel tight despite the cool air that flowed to them. _"Oh God, where's Sam?"_ Something was wrong. Dean had felt Sam in pain, in need of help. He was in trouble and Dean had to do something about it. He had to go find him. Right now. Protect him, save him. Dean's mind raced with the thoughts and he frantically clawed at what he realized was an oxygen mask then immediately moved to pull at the tubes he felt in his arm. Hands appeared out of nowhere and stopped him. Dean flinched violently away from the touch, surprised by it and angered that it was preventing him from getting to Sam.

"Dean?! Jesus, Dean. Calm down, you can't-damnit! Stop! You have to stay still!"

Dean knew the voice, trusted it, but he ignored it. He didn't care if he wasn't _supposed _to get out of bed. He needed to get to Sam.

"Dean, it's okay. It's _okay_ just relax."

"Wrs Sm?" He couldn't believe how much effort it took to get the barely-passable words out or how weak his voice sounded.

"Dean calm down. Just-aw damnit!" Resignation sounded in the rough voice.

Dean weakly pushed away the hands, annoyed that he wasn't strong enough to escape them completely.

"What's going- my God!" A woman's voice all but squeaked the cry of surprise.

He felt another set of hand, pushing him down, holding him back. _"No. _No! _Sam's hurt! Let me go!" _Dean wanted to scream, but he couldn't find the energy to speak.

"I don't know what happened, he just-"

"Wait outside, sir." The woman's voice pitched lower in authority as it cut off the familiar one. Two of the hands moved away and Dean tried to open his eyes. Everything bloomed in a blinding light that felt like pins in his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut again and continued to struggle for freedom. Why didn't these _damn_ people understand he had to find Sam. That his little brother was hurt and needed his help.

"Hold him, damnit!" A new, authoritative voice ordered.

"He's going to crash." Another woman's voice said.

Dean realized the fast beeping noise that had been sounding too-loudly in his ears must be his heart flipping out.

"Push ten milligrams of Midazolan."

He felt a rush of cool liquid in his arm a second later. It spread soothingly through his veins, leaving warmth and forced-calm in its wake.

"In."

"Simon, hey. Just relax, breathe."

_"Simon? Who the...who...?" _Dean felt himself relax, suddenly exhausted. He couldn't fight anymore and he sagged back against the softness supporting him.

"That's it, son." The voice cooed, having lost it's commanding edge.

Dean blinked his eyes open sleepily, allowing bits of the world in as the drugs carried him away. He couldn't make out shapes, everything seemed to have trails blurring away from it, but he was losing the ability to care with each passing second. Ironically, as bright as everything had been, that's how dark it was now and Dean let himself be taken away by it.

"Heart rate is leveling, doctor." The first woman's voice was the last thing Dean heard before slipping into a beautifully peaceful sleep; a simple pleasure he had not been able to indulge in for what felt like years. He fell comfortably in the beckoning darkness, his last thought being a prayer that Sam was okay.

o0o-o0o-o0o

Bobby paced in front of the emergency room doors. After checking on Dean and finding him back to his sleeping self, he'd run down to the ER to intercept the ambulance Sam would be on. Bobby knew when it arrived the paramedics would bark at him to get out of the way, but he just needed to see Sam. To make sure he was okay or alive, at least. Bobby shook his head. That boy was so damn stubborn; just like his brother and daddy. He _had _to be alright.

If only Sam had allowed him to help though, maybe he wouldn't be needing an ambulance right now. He had an earful coming his way. The second Sam woke up, Bobby was going to hug him and ream him up one side and down the other; not necessarily in that order.

Bobby's attention jerked back to outside at the sound of a siren. He blew out a withheld breath, mild relief filling him. He knew they didn't keep the siren on if the patient didn't survive the drive to the hospital. The ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the doors. Bobby stood stock-still and watched through the glass as the doors to the back of the ambulance flew open and two paramedics jumped out. He saw the wheels of a stretcher extend below the door and a moment later the whole device came into view. Bobby's heart clenched and his stomach flopped uncooperatively at the sight of Sam's inert body as it was loaded from the van. Red and blue lights danced over the young man's motionless features and an oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth.

Bobby moved automatically to the side as the paramedics rushed through the sliding doors, but kept his eyes on Sam, scanning carefully for obvious injury. He quickly located a bandage soaked through with blood on Sam's right shoulder. Miscolored patches of skin on his stomach suggested early signs of bruising, but there was no wrapping to indicate broken ribs. Two squares of gauze flanked both sides of Sam's neck, and the amount of blood drying on his face, neck and bare chest made Bobby feel sick. Now he fully understood why the girl on the phone had gone on about it like she had; Sam looked like he had more blood _on _him than in him. Bobby jogged to catch up with the stretcher, wanting to get as much information as he could before Sam disappeared through the white double doors that had taken Dean just the previous night.

"What's wrong with him?"

One of the medics half-turned to look at Bobby, but kept walking.

"Sir, please step back."

_"I swear the next person who says that to me..." _"Not until you answer my question, young man."

The medic stopped, Bobby along with him, and faced him fully. The stretcher and remaining medics and nurses continued on through the doors.

"And who might you be?"

Bobby watched over the snippy man's shoulder until Sam was out of view before answering.

"I'm the boy's uncle. Mind answering me now?"

The medic pursed his lips in an expression commonly known as a "bitch face" and he looked Bobby up and down. Bobby returned the stubborn stare and glanced at the medic's name tag: Ace. _"Huh, no wonder he's pissy. His parents named him 'Ace'." _Ace broke eye contact first and breathed out an impatient sigh. He looked past Bobby and motioned with his hand. A nurse appeared and handed Ace a clipboard. He glanced up at Bobby once more before flipping through the papers.

"Found unconscious at the scene. Heart beat weak, O2 levels low. He was bleeding profusely from his nose, looks like he was coughing up blood, and there's what appears to be a damn-right nasty looking stab wound on his right shoulder. Bruising on his back and abdomen. He took one hell of a beating that's for sure."

Bobby nodded along with the report, eyes widening minutely when Ace mentioned the nose bleed. _"No...he couldn't have..."_

"What caused the nose bleed?"

Ace shrugged. "Can't be for sure until some tests are done. The nose itself wasn't damaged or broken, so no one socked him. Could be a brain hemorrhage."

Bobby's head jolted back in surprise. "Brain hemorrhage?"

Ace put a hand up and curled his shoulders in in mock-defense. "Hey, I said _maybe_. In some cases, head trauma can cause intense nose bleeds. Just sit tight here. We'll know soon enough."

With that, Ace turned and headed towards the doors through which Sam had just disappeared. Bobby sighed and swept one hand under his jacket, resting it on his hip, the other hand reaching up to scratch under the back of his hat. A familiar rumbling sound coming from outside caught his attention and immediately puzzled him. He turned to the doors leading out to the ER drive-up. The ambulance had been pulled away already and parked in its place was the Impala. A young girl, around Sam's age Bobby assessed, stepped out of the car, looking scared and lost. Her dark eyes darted around in an unsure manner as she walked around the Impala towards the sliding doors of the ER entrance. Her body language screamed "freaked to hell." Her shoulders hunched up towards her ears and her arms were locked protectively around her middle.

Bobby approached her as she walked through the doors, coaxing a slightly startled and nervous look from the girl.

"Dianna?" He offered softly.

The girl's expression relaxed a little and she nodded. "You're the guy on the phone."

Her voice sounded almost normal now, though she was still clearly shaken.

"I'm Bobby, Sam's uncle."

Diana smiled shyly and rubbed absently at her arms as if trying to keep warm. Bobby glanced out to the Impala and back at the girl.

"Uh...how'd you-?"

The keys jingled in Dianna's hand as she held them up, the ring looped over her index finger.

"Sorry." She smiled sheepishly. "I found them in his pocket. The paramedics wouldn't let me ride and I just...ya know, wanted to make sure he was okay." Her face fell a bit. "Is he?"

Bobby shrugged and shook his head. "Don't know anything yet."

Dianna's eyes took on a glassy appearance and Bobby motioned out to the Impala, quickly changing the subject. "It's a good thing you brought her back, trust me when I say you prevented a storm."

Dianna smiled weakly and wiped at her eyes with shaky fingers. "He's protective of _her_, huh?"

"It's his brother's car, but yeah. It's sort of...their...home."

Dianna nodded in understanding, a look of sadness darkening her features. Bobby motioned to a nearby chair.

"I'm sorry, are you alright?"

Dianna gratefully sat down, shrugging at the question. "I...I guess so. I mean I still don't know what happened, but..." She paused a second and looked at Bobby hesitantly. "Sam? Is it?" Bobby nodded. "Did..._something..._do that to him?"

Bobby tensed. How could she know? Oh God, had she been awake for it? He always hated to be the one to tell normal people whose lives hadn't been torn about by evil that there was a whole mess of stuff out there that they didn't want to know about. He cleared his throat in an act of avoidance.

"What do you mean?"

Dianna's shoulders hunched forward and she rubbed her hands together between her knees. "Well, there was...this stuff set up. LIke candles and freaky symbols and this bowl filled with weird saw dusty stuff."

_"Summoning ritual. I knew it." _Bobby blinked and looked away; he didn't feel like dealing with this right now. He needed to find out more about Sam and get back to Dean.

"Is Sam a...a Satanist?"

Bobby's eyes darted back to Dianna's dead-serious face, her big eyes cautiously questioning. He couldn't help the chuckle that burst past his lips.

"No, sweetheart. No, he was just...uh...Sam was-"

"Mr. Cash?"

Bobby nearly melted with relief at hearing his name called. Even if it was fake, it still saved him from giving the poor girl an explanation that she probably didn't want to hear. Bobby looked up and saw a small nurse in pink scrubs looking at him. He recognized Jillian, the nurse who had been so kind to Sam. He turned back to Dianna.

"Excuse me."

Dianna smiled softly and sat back in her chair as Bobby stood and approached Jillian.

"I just heard they brought Paul in." Jillian said, her stress-aged face drawn with concern and sympathy. "What happened?"

_"Oh, Sam just went off, summoned a demon and may or may not have used his psychic powers to save his brother from Hell. Ya know, your typical ER statistic." _Bobby simply shrugged. "I don't know yet. He's got a stab wound and one guy said something about a possible brain hemorrhage, but that's all I've heard."

"Oh dear." Jillian sympathized, a look of true sadness crossing her face.

"Yeah." Bobby concurred.

Jillian reached out and gave Bobby's arm a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry. He'll be fine. I'll be sure to keep an eye on him." She finished with a wink.

Bobby nodded and looked down, shuffling his feet.

"I heard Simon woke up."

Bobby furrowed his eyebrows and flicked questioning eyes up to the nurse. "Who?"

"Your other nephew?" Jillian offered.

Bobby inwardly winced. _"Smooth, Singer." _"Oh, uh yeah. He did."

Jillian smiled sweetly. "If I may say so, you've got some pretty wild nephews, Mr. Cash."

Bobby laughed quietly and shook his head. "You have no idea."

_...To Be Continued..._

Oo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oO

_So if reality existed in Fanfiction, I'm aware that Sam's stab wound would be pinned to Dianna due to the fact that her prints are on the knife (And the knife would go into evidence lock up and Dianna would get into trouble). I'm not sure if any of you may have thought that, but as before...just smile and wave: ) Because this is NOT CSI, or Law & Order or any of the millions of the cookie-cutter crime shows out there...this is Supernatural and a logical explanation is not always needed; )The boys are...well...they're THE boys and they could easily reclaim the knife from evidence lock up if it came to that. They've been in trickier situations. Aaaanywho, I'll stop pointing out the plot-holes of my story. It's about the boys, not technicalities._

_Okay, the final chapter will be up tomorrow. I hope it satisfies as a finale. My editor thought parts of it were a bit cheesy, but she is not as into the EMO as some of us are and I refuse to change it cause I feel it is completely necessary. I hope ya'll will feel the same way._

_Reviews are like saying "Son of a bitch!"...and I'm Dean: )_

_Oo-Lil-oO_


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes**

_Okay, here it is...the finale of Niagara. _

_This was originally going to be two separate updates, but I thought they were too closely related to make into individual chapters._

_This has been my theory since the S2 finale. Every time I watched __**Nightmare **__after that, I always thought that Sam would find himself in a similar situation to that (Seeing Dean die) and tap into his unknown power. _

_It was really weird not writing Dean for most of this story, I missed him: ( _

_Alright so this is the last chapter so that means...well I can't tell you what it means cause that would be giving it away, but I think you all know what to expect so yeah...prepare yourselves; )_

Oo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oOo-oo-oO

_"You're lying safe in bed, it was all a bad dream spinning in your head...So here it is, another chance. Wide awake, you face the day, your dream is over...or has it just begun?"_

_-Queensyrche "Silent Lucidity"_

_oo-oOo-oo_

**Chapter 13**

It was dark. But not like before. This was a comfortable, peaceful, welcomed dark that meant rest and rejuvenation. He heard voices; one familiar from years of listening to it and coming to love and respect whom it belonged to and the other familiar only by hearing it once previously. The hushed conversation pulled him away from the dark and he carefully blinked his eyes open, adjusting to the light. Objects gradually lost their fuzz and began to take clearer shape. He turned his head towards the voices, the movement sluggish and uncontrolled.

A man in a white coat stood with his back to Dean and standing before the doctor, talking quietly, was Bobby. Dean opened his mouth to speak and realized the oxygen mask was still on. He tried to will his hand to reach up to remove it, but it felt like his arms and legs, hell, whole body, were made of lead. He licked his dry, cracked lips and tried to speak again. His attempted "Bobby" came out as a squeaky croak. _"Oh, that sounded real solid, Dean." _But the sound was enough to get both men's attention. Bobby's face softened in relief and he immediately went to Dean's side.

"Sweet Jesus, boy it's good to see you." Bobby's chuckle sounded strained with emotion, but still filled with happiness.

Dean tried to return the smile, but got the feeling he looked more like an idiot than anything else. Bobby laughed again and gave Dean's uninjured shoulder a squeeze.

"You're a lucky man, Mr. Kirke." Said the man in the white coat.

Dean looked coolly from the doctor back to Bobby upon hearing his new pseudonym. Bobby's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Yeah, _Simon_, you had us worried there for awhile."

Dean did manage a proper smile this time. _"Simon Kirke, that's cute. Had to be Sammy's doing...Sam." _Dean's eyes widened a little and he felt his heart start to beat faster. How the hell had his brother not been the first thought to cross his mind? Bobby read Dean's expression and turned to the doctor.

"Doc, could you give us a minute?"

Dr. Herschfeld nodded. "Of course." And left the room.

Dean's eyes darted back to Bobby after the door closed.

"Whrs Sam?" He croaked out weakly. Dean then put all his energy into trying to sit up. He didn't get far before Bobby pushed him back. Frustrated tears welled in Dean's wild eyes when he found he was still to weak to resist.

"Let m'go." He managed to put a little more power into his voice this time as he glared up at Bobby.

"Calm down or I'll make them knock you out again." The older man hissed quietly, no real threat in his voice. Dean just shook his head and tried to sit up again. He made it up most of the way this time before pain seared through his chest, back, and shoulder. Dean groaned and fell heavily back against the pillows. He noted how wonderful the softness felt.

"Ya see? Now stop being the stubborn ass you are for just a minute and listen to me."

Dean rolled his eyes in frustration over his failed escape and looked impatiently at his friend. Bobby pulled up a chair and sat. He blew out a breath and leaned forward against his knees, clasping his hands.

"Sam's safe. He's here."

Dean sagged visibly in relief. "He is?"

Bobby nodded, sadness passing over his eyes as he realized Dean didn't quite understand him. "Yes, but I mean. He's..._.here_."

Dean's brow furrowed softly, his mind still a bit sluggish, before comprehension dawned and his eyes widened with fear. "What happened? Is he okay? I wanna see him right now!"

Dean heard the slur disappear from his words, his voice bolstered by concern for his brother. The two questions and single demand came out in a rush as Dean ignored the pain and managed to struggle up until he was sitting lopsidedly. Bobby tapped the air with his hand in attempts to stop Dean's building anxiety.

"I'm not one-hundred percent sure what happened, he's fine, and you're not going anywhere until you've rested up a bit."

Bobby leaned forward and propped an extra pillow up behind Dean's back so he could remain sitting more comfortably.

"He's...okay?" Dean's voice shook and, to Bobby, the expression he wore and the look in his shiny, green eyes made him look four years old again.

"He's in the ICU-and before you freak out, he's being moved out today. I got them to agree to bring him in here."

Dean felt his stomach flip with eagerness to see his brother and fear for the same reason. _"Why is he in the ICU? How is he okay if he's in there? Why do I fee like I'm not getting the whole picture here?"_ A thought occurred to him suddenly, abruptly stopping the blur of questions flying around his head. _"I'm not dead..."_

"What?"

Dean blinked. He hadn't realized he'd said the last thought aloud until Bobby was staring at him like he was crazy. "I'm not dead." Dean repeated quietly. _"My year was up, the hell hound got me, so why am I still here?" _Dean swallowed hard and looked back up. "Bobby...how long have we been in here? Me and Sam?"

Bobby gave him another appraising look then sat back with a sigh, rubbing at his beard. "Four days, nearly five. You were...out for all of the first, you woke up, freaked out—I think you remember that—then slept til just now. Sam...well he came in later the first day. He's been mostly unconscious, and when he wakes it's only for a minute and he's out before anyone can get a better reading on him."

Dean swallowed hard, fear growing. "You said, _late _the first day..."

Bobby looked away at something non-existant over in the corner.

"We weren't brought in at the same time?" Dean urged.

Bobby still didn't move, but shook his head after a moment. _"I'm not dead." _Dean heard the explanation in his old friend's silence, but he needed to hear the words before he let himself believe it was true.

"What happened, Bobby?" Dean asked softly. He looked intently at his old friend, saw Bobby searching for the right words to say and suddenly Dean knew that what he'd suspected was about to be verified. Bobby sniffed, eyes shiny, and looked at Dean finally.

"Your brother saved your ass, that's what happened." Bobby said quietly, his voice devoid of any humor that the words might suggest. It was Dean's turn to look away. He looked down at his hands, vaguely noting the absence of the ring on his right ring finger. Dean lifted his arm heavily and reached a hand up to his chest. He felt the bandages wrapping his chest beneath the thin, white t-shirt before his fingers found what they sought. He felt tears tickle his sinuses, a strange sensation when mixed with the cool oxygen flowing to them. Dean closed his hand around the amulet, knowing without explanation that his brother had been the one to put it back on him.

"Sam summoned Lillith didn't he?" Dean waited, and after a pause.

"Yep."

Dean nodded slowly, lost in thought. "He used his powers." It was more a thought then a question, but still Bobby answered.

"Yep."

"Did he...did he kill her?"

Bobby's too long pause forced Dean to look back at him. Bobby returned the gaze, suddenly looking exhausted and much older than he actually was. He breathed out a weary sigh and shrugged in a way that said he'd considered every other possibility and discarded them all.

"You're alive, son. He had to've."

Dean bit his lip. It was exactly as he'd thought. In...wherever that was—but he was sure now it wasn't Hell—he'd felt Sam. He'd felt his pain, emotions, his unbelievable power. Sam had done as he'd promised: he'd found a way to save him. Dean felt a swell of love in his chest quickly followed a pang of anger. What had Sam been thinking? He could have gotten himself kill and what if...

"I don't think he's changed, Dean."

Dean's head snapped around to look at Bobby. The hunter just looked back at him, his expression confirming to Dean that he really was that transparent. Dean wanted, more than anything, to take Bobby's word and not give it another thought. But it never was that simple.

"Why?" He whispered, hating to ask.

Bobby just looked back at him. A sad smile crinkled his kind blue eyes after a moment.

"If Sam had changed, I don't think he'd be with us right now."

It took Dean only a minute to decipher the meaning behind Bobby's words, and the translation comforted him and made him sick at the same time. Bobby was right. If Sam had felt out of control or..._different, _he would have ended it himself. He wouldn't be down in the ICU right at that moment...he'd be in the morgue. The thought made Dean suddenly feel anxious again, on the same level he'd felt when he'd come back from..._there_.

"Bobby, please take me to see him." Dean didn't want to ask. He'd take himself if he could, but he could feel his weakness like a weight on his body. Bobby shook his head, his eyes shiny with apology.

"You damn-near died, Dean. You need to take it easy for awhile."

Dean fisted his hands angrily. He didn't _want _to take it easy. He wanted, needed, to see Sam. He wanted to hug him, then kick his ass, then hug him again. He needed to know how close he'd been to losing him.

"At least tell me why he's in the ICU." Dean said, managing a weak gesture with his hand.

Bobby nodded in agreement, seeming to find it a fair compromise. "Nasty case of exhaustion. Boy's as stubborn as you are when it come to choosing everything else over rest. He showed all signs of having a brain hemorrhage, but uh...his CT came back clean." Bobby shrugged. "Doc can't explain it. I think he's starting to suspect you two of being medical marvels." He tried a soft smile, but continued in all seriousness when Dean still looked desperate for information. "He's got a stab wound to his right shoulder. A lot of blood loss. Thank God for transfusions."

Dean's eyes flashed wickedly. "Stab wound?"

Bobby nodded knowingly.

"Son of a bitch." Dean growled. He almost wished Lillith were still alive so he could kill her himself for doing that to Sam.

"The bitch herself, more like." Bobby offered.

Dean went over the diagnosis in his mind, feeling a little nauseous when he came to one part in particular. "Wait, brain hemorrhage, wha-...I mean, is he okay?"

Bobby nodded and shrugged, a combination that said_ "I don't know how, but yeah." _"The scan came back perfectly clean."

"Then why'd they think he had one to begin with?"

Bobby blinked and just looked at Dean for a moment before answering. "Nose was bleeding something awful, the doctor, Herschfeld, said it's common when a certain amount of physical stress if put on the brain but uh...there was no damage done to it."

Dean's face softened_. _He let his eyes drift away from Bobby. "Oh." He said softly.

He saw Bobby nod sagely out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah."

He spoke just a single word, but in it Dean could tell that Bobby knew what he was thinking and had reached the same conclusion himself: Sam's powers had reached a high enough level to take a physical toll on him. Nothing else could explain it.

Lillith might have caused it. Dean knew better than anyone what kind of torture a demon can inflict without lifting a finger, but he knew in his heart that that was not the case this time. He'd felt Sam. Felt his power. Dean didn't know how, but he had. He didn't know where he had been but he sure as hell never wanted to go back. He couldn't believe when Bobby said it had just been a day since he'd been brought in. It had felt like a lifetime in that place.

Dean suppressed a shiver at the memory. He swore that he still felt sore from the constant torture he'd gone through _there, _still felt achy where the hooks had torn into his flesh.

The smallest hint of an amused smile coming from Bobby broke Dean from his stupor.

"What?" He crinkled his eyebrows in question.

"Don't you wanna know how _you _are?"

Dean blinked. Funny, the thought hadn't cross his mind. He shrugged.

"I'm fine now. Does it matter?"

Bobby frowned, obviously displeased with Dean's demeanor. "Have you learned your lesson yet?"

"Don't wrestle with hell hounds?" Dean quipped softly, inwardly wincing at the volley of reprimands he knew was about to be thrown his way.

"Dean!" Bobby snapped sternly, his eyes wild with disapproval of Dean's levity.

Dean squirmed under the pressing stare. He hadn't meant to make a joke. It was a defense mechanism that he had trouble controlling sometimes, but even so he didn't want to talk about this. Not now. Not ever.

"What do you want me to say, Bobby? That I should stop looking out for Sam? Is _that _supposed to be the lesson I've learned?"

"I want you to promise you won't do something so damn stupid again."

Dean dropped his gaze and looked down at the gauze taped to his right arm a little ways up from the IV, thinking it to be a little twisted that he'd had enough close calls to know it was where a blood transfusion line had been. He would, and would always, do everything he could to protect Sam, so he wasn't about to promise a damn thing.

"You listen to me, boy. You've seen enough that you should know otherwise, but don't you _dare_ think luck like this comes along every day. Me and Sam? We almost lost you. And because of that, you almost lost _him_."

Dean flinched at the gravity of the words and the sharp tone in which they were said.

"Do you wanna look your brother in the face and tell him he almost killed himself to save your stubborn ass just so you could do it all over again?"

Bobby grabbed Dean's un-tubed arm. "Look at me." He growled.

Dean hesitantly did as he was told, wishing that somehow Bobby wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. The older hunter locked eyes with him, denying Dean's attention to wander.

"It's your responsibility as a the eldest to watch after your kid brother...but _never_...is it your right to play God."

Dean could feel the tears starting to brim and felt mild anger that he couldn't stop them. Bobby's face softened a little and he loosened his grip on Dean's arm to be more comforting than warning.

"I think the fact that both you boys are alive right now is proof He's doing his job right."

Bobby had never really voiced it to anyone, in a world so conflicted it was really no one's business, but he believed in a higher power. It was one of, and sometimes the only thing that kept him going all his years of hunting. He had to believe there was a reason that he had survived so many hunts gone wrong and he knew only a miracle could have spared Dean and Sam's lives. Now if only he could convince Dean of that.

"You understand me?"

Dean had looked down again, but Bobby could still see the shine of unshed tears. He knew Dean didn't want or deserve to be pushed right now. Bobby couldn't imagine what he'd been through, but sometimes that was exactly what needed to be done.

"Yeah." Dean's delayed reply was low and gravelly, but Bobby was satisfied that it held the right tone: true acceptance and not just an answer to appease him. He nodded curtly and gave Dean's arm a squeeze before drawing back his hand. Bobby's lips curled into a slightly amused smile after a moment. He had made fun of Dean before for not thinking of himself, but he had failed to ask as well.

"How ya feelin'?"

Dean lifted his uninjured shoulder in a half shrug. "Tired. Kind achy."

"Any pain?"

"A little. Not really if I hold still."

"Best stick to what works then, hmm? I'll bet they have ya on the good stuff." Bobby smiled.

Dean quirked up the corner of his mouth, the plastic of the O2 mask distorting the slight smile. He managed to reach up with what was meant to be nonchalance and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. His hand bumped the mask on the way back and it fell lopsided on his face. Dean grumbled in annoyance as he readjusted it.

"Can I take this damn thing off yet?"

Bobby suppressed a chuckle. "Doc said you could be switched to a nasal cannula once you woke up."

Dean mumbled an irritable "Well, good." and heaved out a sigh. He noticed Bobby smiling warmly at him after a moment.

"What now?" Dean asked, weariness pulling down his mood a bit.

"It's good to have ya back, kid."

The words seemed to hit Dean hard and he thought over the true weight of them. He nodded slowly, eyes lifting from their down-turned gaze of thought to look up at Bobby.

"Thanks, Bobby." He said quietly, smiling softly at the man who'd come to be like a father to he and Sam. Dean had never really expressed his gratitude towards Bobby for all he'd ever done for his family, but he hoped his thanks now could encompass his appreciation for all the things Bobby had helped them through over the years.

Bobby closed his eyes as he nodded and his smile told Dean that the worn hunter knew the magnitude behind his words. Dean sighed and looked out the window on the wall opposite him, wondering briefly why it was cracked, but dismissing the thought as his mind focused else where. It was good to _be_ back. For the first time since...well, for the first time in awhile, Dean felt a little bit safe. Now all he needed was to see Sam.

A quick tap at the door quickly preceded the entrance of a small nurse with a kind face. Her mouth turned up in a smile as she noticed Dean sitting up.

"Well, welcome back, Simon."

"Uh thanks." Dean said, taken slightly aback by the familiar manner in which the nurse acted towards him.

"This is Jillian." Bobby explained. "She's been keeping a pretty close watch on you boys."

"Well they're just such handsome devils. It's hard not to." Jillian added, winking at Bobby before turning back to changing the IV bag.

"How are ya feelin'?" She asked Dean.

"Fine, considering."

Jillian's brow creased with sympathy. "Yeah, I heard what happened."

Dean froze. "You did?"

"Yeah, you can never be too careful when you're hunting. There's all kinds of wild creatures in the woods. I've got an older brother and boy has he told me some horror stories."

Dean relaxed and glanced at Bobby who just shrugged.

"Right. Listen, any chance I could get a less annoying-as-hell set up here, please?" Dean motioned his index finger in a circular motion at his face.

Jillian giggled and nodded. "Sure." She hooked a tube to the oxygen behind the wall on the bed and, after allowing Dean to sluggishly remove the mask, hooked it over his ears and under his nose. Dean smiled, very appreciative of the less constricting feeling.

"Thanks." He grinned his "Make the ladies melt" smile at Jillian, the intensity toned down by fatigue.

Jillian smiled back and moved to the end of the bed to view the chart hooked over the footboard.

"Green eyes." She said with a slightly dreamy sigh. "Surprising. I was expecting blue for some reason."

Dean wasn't sure if the remark was intended for a compliment until Jillian tossed him a shy smile.

"You don't see those enough."

Dean's grinned, but the smile tightened a bit as the eagerness to ask the question he so desperately wanted an affirmative answer to became unbearable.

"Can I see my brother?"

Jillian chuckled and shook her head. "I was waiting for you to ask. I checked in on him not too long ago. Janice in the ICU told me they'll move him in here sometime before five."

She looked down and scribbled something on the chart, her face mellowing a bit. She flicked her head to the side briefly. "That boy's a fighter."

Dean felt his throat tighten. He looked quickly at Bobby who conveniently failed to meet his gaze.

"He had to learn it from someone though I suppose." Jillian's jingly voice broke the silence and, with a departing smile, she left the room. Dean's jaw clenched as he looked back at Bobby's still averted gaze. He was angry that his friend had obviously been keeping things from him, but decided to let it slide. He knew this couldn't be easy for Bobby either. Dean had played the waiting game in hospitals more times in his life than any one person should. He knew how much stress it put on a person.

"Have you been down to see him?"

Bobby looked up finally and shook his head. "Not for lack of trying either. They just always said it wasn't a good time."

Dean let his heavy head fall back on the pillow and he sighed discontentedly. He felt trapped by lack of information. Of results. He knew he'd been told a few times now that Sam was fine, but each time it failed to appease him. He needed to seefor himself that Sam was alright. Until then, he would not feel at ease.

A few moments of silence later, Dean remembered and inquired about the family in the demonic suburbia. He half-listened as Bobby relayed the events of the night and stared in thought, still thinking about Sam. How he was doing right now, what he'd gone through to defeat Lillith, if she'd hurt him besides the stab wound. Dean nodded when he realized Bobby had finished the story and a little while later begrudgingly drifted into a restless, though much needed, sleep.

o0o-o0o-o0o

The next time Dean woke, the room was darker. _"Night." _A single light over the sink by the door cast a pale, hardly sufficient illumination around the room. He blinked a few times, realizing what had woken him up. His back ached and cramped from being in the same, upright position for too long. Each beat of his sleep-paced heart throbbed in his multiple wounds and he set his jaw as he carefully shifted to find a more comfortable position. Dean felt the indescribable feeling of someone watching him and he rolled his head over to see Bobby still sitting in the chair by his bed. Dean swallowed the cottony feeling in his mouth and forced his eyes to stay open.

"Hey." His greeting pitched low and sounded raw.

Bobby nodded once in a return greeting.

"How's Sam?" Dean managed in a hoarse whisper.

Bobby's eyes sparkled mischievously and a smile crinkled his scruffy features. "See for yourself."

Dean's eyebrows started a slow dip as his still sleep-clouded mind blanked. Bobby nodded to something behind Dean. Understanding cleared Dean's mind and, as quickly as he could manage, he pivoted his head to his right to look where Bobby had hinted. Dean felt pure, delirious relief. Sam lay in a bed no more than five feet away, propped slightly upright, and sleeping peacefully. Dean's attention quickly narrowed on Sam's chest and refused to stray until he saw the sure rise and fall of life. He rolled on his side and pressed up against the rail closest to Sam, ignoring the stress it put on his injuries. Dean gripped the rail, staring wide-eyed at his brother.

"Sammy?" He breathed out.

Grunting quietly, Dean pushed himself into a sitting position and slung his feet over the side of the bed. He'd already unhooked the nasal cannula from around his ears and was about to start in on the IV when Bobby appeared in front of him, stopping his attempt.

"Whoa there, slow down a minute. Ya know it wouldn't kill ya to ask for help once in awhile."

Dean waited impatiently on the edge of his bed, eyes still locked on Sam, an irrational fear telling him if he blinked reality might snap back and admit its cruel trick. Bobby rolled up a wheelchair that he'd requested, knowing well that Dean would attempt, and fail, to get to Sam the moment he woke up. Carefully, he took an arm under Dean's uninjured shoulder and slowly moved him from the bed to the wheelchair. A beading of sweat had formed at Dean's hairline and his face scrunched in deep concentration to ignore the stress he was putting on his injuries. Bobby rolled the IV pole to stand by Sam's then turned back to wheel an anxious Dean to his brother's side.

Dean leaned forward eagerly and lifted his left arm, his right held tightly against his side. As soon as he was close enough, Dean reached out and wrapped a shaking hand around Sam's lower arm. The warmth of his brother's skin and the solid feel of confirmation that Dean needed washed over him in an overwhelming flood of emotion. He blew out a breath, failing to disguise the light sob. Dean leaned forward with a grimace as Bobby stopped the chair and he rested against the side of the bed.

"Hey." Dean said in a shaky whisper. He licked his dry lips, feeling the burn of their chap at the action, and smiled weakly. "I'm back." Dean knew only Sam would understand the true weight of that statement. He knew Sam had figured it all out somehow, even if he himself hadn't quite yet.

"It's your turn now." Dean finished quietly. His smile faded away when Sam's eyes remained closed. Dean frowned a little as he took an evaluation of Sam's current state. The young man's face was pale with dark circles accentuating the hollow under his eyes. A nasal cannula, like the one Dean had quickly rid himself of a few minutes earlier, nestled under his nose. There were white squares of gauze on both sides of his neck and his right shoulder and left hand were bandaged. _"He did this for you." _Dean swallowed hard at the thought, willing off the growing threat of tears.

"Has he been conscious at all?" He asked Bobby without moving his eyes from his too-still brother.

"A few times down in the ICU and just for a few minutes. He woke up again not too long ago, that's when they brought him up here. He kept asking for you."

Dean just nodded. "Come on, Sammy. Time to wake up." He said in a low voice, giving Sam's arm a squeeze. Dean almost gasped when Sam took in a deep breath and fidgeted a little. He had voiced his plea, but hadn't expected Sam to actually listen to him. His heart leapt and pounded impatiently.

"Sam?" Dean gave his brother's arm a gentle shake. Sam's eyes rolled beneath their lids and after a minute cracked open to slits. He blinked lethargically a few times and stared ahead with unfocused eyes.

"Sammy?"

Sam let his head fall heavily to the side as if he didn't have the strength to hold it up. His eyes gradually focused on Dean and widened minutely. The muscles in the arm beneath Dean's hand tensed and he could tell Sam was attempting to sit up. Sam's half-mast eyes sparkled with tears and his mouth turned down, the corners shaking as his lips formed a word Dean couldn't hear, but knew was his name. He smiled and felt the tears that had been waiting finally well up in his eyes.

"Hey."

Sam struggled to sit up, but again failed.

"Dean." The name cracked and passed Sam's lips sounding like a choked sob. His arm lifted a fraction off the bed and he reached a shaking hand desperately towards Dean. His fingers brushed the material of Dean's shirt and he fisted the fabric tightly, pulling weakly at his brother. Dean obeyed and moved as far forward as he could, but still Sam didn't let go. He wrapped a hand around Sam's wrist, just below where the hand held his shirt so tightly. Dean gave Sam an attempted reassuring smile, the action crinkling his eyes and threatening the awaiting tears to fall. A quiet sob shook Sam and he tugged weakly at Dean's shirt. Dean felt the answering need within himself. He wanted to hug his little brother. He wanted to hold on tight and never let go. The fact that he didn't quite feel strong enough to get out of that damn wheelchair and do just that annoyed Dean and made him feel a little trapped. Instead he tightened his hold on Sam's wrist to the point he was sure he ran the risk of inflicting pain, but Sam seemed not to care; he just stared back unblinkingly, tears rolling down his pale face.

"Dean." Sam managed to whisper again. Dean nodded, hearing the need for confirmation in Sam's voice.

"You okay?" Dean's voice cracked. Sam closed his eyes a moment and Dean knew he had attempted to nod. His features darkened a little and he gave Sam's arm a little shake. "What the hell were you thinkin', huh?"

Sam just stared at him for a moment, then dimples appeared shakily as soft indentations on his cheeks. Dean couldn't help but see the bright-eyed little three year old smiling weakly at him.

"Niagara." Sam whispered, the word barely audible. Dean's eyebrows dipped and he leaned forward a little more, straining to hear what his brother was saying.

"Sammy, what?"

Sam took in a deep breath and swallowed audibly before trying to speak again. "Jump in...save you." He wheezed.

Dean's look of inquisitiveness remained as he tried to make sense of the words. He was beginning to think that Sam was still soaring on the pain meds or had taken a more serious bump to the head when the relevance of the words clicked in his mind. Dean's puzzled expression relaxed to one of understanding. _"Someone goes over Niagra in a barrel, you gonna jump in to try to save them?" _Dean felt his heart clench and he nodded tightly in understanding.

He wanted to reprimand Sam. Yell at him for taking such a dangerous risk, for trying something that could have ended in a terribly wrong way. But looking at Sam's relieved, loving expression, Dean couldn't bring himself to do it. It had, mercifully and for the first time in their lives, not ended in complete disaster and Dean knew that in that moment there was no use for harsh words.

"Thank you." He said in a husky voice, his jaw tensing as he fought to control his emotions. Sam clenched his hand tighter in response and tugged at him again. _"Alright, Sammy...alright." _Without a word, Dean released Sam's wrist, braced himself against the arms of the wheelchair, and began to push himself up. Pain flared, forcing Dean to bite back a groan and falter. He immediately felt hands under his arms, helping him stand. Dean had almost forgotten Bobby was there, but he was glad because the second the pain had hit him he'd realized that he wouldn't have been able to go any farther. The strong hands helped him stand and move to sit on the bed next to Sam. The hands held him until he felt steady enough to hold his own, then disappeared silently.

Dean reached out and curled his fingers into the front of Sam's shirt. Carefully, he pulled Sam forward and into a one-armed embrace. His arm hooked gingerly over Sam's right shoulder and crossed his back. He felt Sam's hand twist in the fabric at the back of his shirt. He felt him shake with quiet sobs and felt warm tears on his right shoulder where Sam's face was buried. Dean sensed that Bobby was still in the room, a quiet strength of reassurance, but he wouldn't have cared if the whole world was standing watching. He just closed his eyes and held onto his little brother, tears finally rolling down his face to land soundlessly in the brown mess of Sam's hair. It was a long overdo gesture. Neither of them was dying, or even dead. It was simply the pure need to literally feel that they had both made it through this one.

Dean had been a hypocrite; he knew that. He'd done what he'd mocked in his allegory and he'd _jumped in_ to save Sam. And Sam, being the son of John Winchester and his own brother and in all other ways stubborn, had gone in after him. Holding Sam a little tighter, Dean realized that no matter how hard he fought it, that was what the rest of their lives were going to be like. They would always look after each other. Neither one of them would ever be willing to give up on the other and Dean knew all he had to do was keep his end of the unspoken understanding. No matter what.

_"I will be watching over you, I'm gonna help you see it through, I'll protect you in the night. I'm smiling next to you..."_

_oo-oOo-oo_

_**...The End.**_

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**A few final thoughts**

_There ya have it. The end. La fin. El fine. _

_I REALLY hope ya'll liked it and I hope at no point was it TOO cheesy or unrealistic. I realize I may have been pushing it at the end, but come on! Sam and Dean have been through QUITE an ordeal! If they don't actually hug after all this...I'm gonna write a letter._

_I was originally going to have Sam have a REAL brain hemorrhage, but after doing some research I realized that that particular injury either requires additional writing that I don't have time for or it ends in death, so I figured since the "hemorrhage" was psychically related, then it wouldn't exist...if that makes any sense._

_Ok so you can take that last sentence however you want. You can take it as an elaboration of Dean's determination and loyalty to protect Sam...or you can take it as a hint of just how much that loyalty might be tested. I realize that Sam turning evil (if only for a little bit) is inevitable, but I don't have the heart to write that (again, anyway) so I simply left it open. It is up to Master Kripke now. _

_I really did love writing this story. It was one of the only stories I've written so far where I knew exactly where I wanted it to go and wrote it with little to no hesitation or difficulty. _

_**I would like to thank everyone who read this and for your reviews. They were always the highlight of my day and I appreciate you guys for sticking with the story and taking the time to tell me what you thought. Cookies and huggles for everyone.**_

_Alright, I shall sign off and say for the last time on this fic that reviews are simply love._

_Oo-Lil-oO_


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